Made from Scratch by Coleen O'Connell

I have lost three pair of mittens these past two months. Middle age forgetfulness I conclude. Thanking my grandmother for her tutelage when I was young, each time I simply make another pair instead of going to the mall to buy new ones. My grandmother would be proud of me. She, who taught me to sew, started me on simple things at age four. She mentored me into my high school years where I surpassed her skills and tailored a coat with the help of my Home Economics teacher, which won me “Future Homemaker of the Year.” Those were the days when it was called Home Economics instead of Consumer Science as it is now. As a consuming culture, we have moved beyond the practice of making necessary objects from scratch at home – whether it be biscuits or a crazy quilt made from scraps. Now days you learn to read Consumer Reports to find the best deal of the sexiest performing new unnecessary gadget and then spend your time searching for it online or driving around from store to store. Not me.

So in the spirit of Grandma where every discarded piece of clothing found its way to a quilt, a potholder, or some useful household item, I must make time to sew a new pair of mittens. What can be a better time than Saturday night? Once again I sort through my stash of wool sweaters and fleeces as I take out the mitten pattern a graduate student introduced me to last winter. I began to design yet another pair of mittens. Mixing and matching I choose carefully three different cast-offs for a combination of color and texture as I fall into the trance of my sewing project.

This time I use the Irish wool sweater I bought in 1995 while on my fabled trip to the ancestral homeland. That sweater has been a faithful companion all these years and then last summer it succumbed to those nasty wool moths. Rendered unwearable by the large gaping holes, I find there are plenty of good places for placing the mitten pattern and I boldly cut into the cable knitted beauty.

My discarded brown herringbone wool coat is my next choice. Worn at the edges, and now too small on my thickening body, I have relegated it to the reuse pile. This coat holds wonderful memories of my burgeoning professional life as I took Cambridge by storm each winter. PhD work, teaching courses, advising students, attending faculty meetings, designing new graduate programs... all those trips to Boston made in this one classy coat. I am so happy as I connect my past life with my present one – where I still travel to Cambridge, teach students, and advise them. Now I wear a fancy wool coat I bought for $5. at a church sale where they were raising money for a mission in Africa. Someday it too could become mittens.

My third choice for color and texture is the hard one. The beige Ireland sweater and the brown herringbone wool coat need some color. What shall I choose? The cornflower blue sweater with sunflowers peppered all over it that I bought in Heathrow airport on my return from teaching a semester in India? It too succumbed to the wool moths. Or maybe the Icelandic sweater my mother-in-law gave me years ago at the beginning of my now defunct marriage? Red, black and white. Hmmm...what color am I feeling like for this next pair? Or maybe the beautiful orange, salmon colored variegated wool shawl I knitted several years back and then mistakenly washed and felted? This part of the mitten making is my favorite – my creative juices are flowing as I sort through the possibilities.

I finally settle on the vibrant teal blue/green sweater whose color matches my new $5 coat exactly. Bought at Good Will, the wool is thick and rich. Won’t I look smart in matching coat and mittens? Again my Grandma would be proud. OK, it is cheesey but oh so warm. Now I must try not to lose them.