Darning Holes in Worn Gloves

I wore the same black gloves every day this past winter. I'd found them in the grocery store in the frozen food aisle. They held up pretty good for being cheap and considering I used them to scrape snow and ice off my car windows. But in the last few weeks the tips of my fingers have pushed through the ends of my gloves; making them look more like those things that golfers wear.
I know it's pretty sad but I refuse to go buy a new pair. It's the principle of the thing. By the calendar, it is spring so soon I won't be needing them. Right! Today I had the bright idea I'd sew the ends with tiny, black stitches just like my grandmother would darn socks.

When I think about it, my grandmother-and those of her generation-never threw anything out just because it had a hole or it was ripped. Nothing was tossed. Everything was given a 2nd or 3rd life. Needle and thread would be pulled out of her sewing basket. When she found a spare moment she'd mend the holes in the socks and rips in pants or shirts; even sweaters. When clothing was really worn she'd cut the cloth into strips and when she had enough material she'd braid her rugs. If something needed a button she'd go to her button bag-all recycled from the clothing she'd cut up. That button bag was also a great source of fun when in need of checkers for the checker board or playing, "Button! Button! Who's Got the Button" or "Hot Potato" or "Hide the Button" or for seeing who could make the longest line of buttons around the farmhouse. Zippers and hooks 'n eyes each had their own bags too but they weren't as fun as buttons.

If there were leftovers, the next night the meal was a different version of the previous night. Rice left from dinner might turn up as rice croquettes for breakfast. When my grandmother made her to-die-for-flaky-crisco pie crusts, she would roll any leftover dough out into small,separate crusts. In the middle of each, she'd spoon on some of her homemade jam-whatever she had ready; then roll each little pie crust up into a tart and bake them until the crusts were golden and the jam pipping hot. With a glass of cold milk, those tarts quite possibly were the best treats my grandmother baked. They said alot for leftover pie crust and the art of recycling when recycling was just the way of life.

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