Monday, 15 December 2014

I woke up this morning to find the other side of the bed empty.  Shirley had another one of those nights when she couldn't sleep so she was up early.  I laid there and tried a bit of mindfulness meditation, but wound up thinking about an incident back in December 1948.  I had been in an automobile accident and the top coat I was wearing wound up with a large L-shaped tear near my right shoulder.  My mother was working at Krolls, a women's wear store in Rochester, NY, so she knew all the seamstresses and tailors working there.  Someone, I don't know who, took my top coat and re-wove the fabric so that the tear was invisible.  That was truly the work of an artisan.  In this age of automation and computer-driven machines, I doubt the repair could be made.