The unmaking

Some things are meant to last forever. Most are not. I was so proud of the knit dress I made summer 2014 (or was it 13?) Yet I was also a weensy bit embarrassed to wear it. The stripe was not straight,but lurched and leaned to the side. The form fitting nature emphasized my belly in a way I felt all too conspicuous. The hem was higher than I often wore, for I planned for eventual, inevitable lengthening of the fabric from the weight of wear.

Then I gained weight, about 50 pounds over a couple years (still looking into related health issues) and the dress no longer fit comfortably. So it hangs lonely and unworn day after week after month after year.

I have finally decided it is time for the unmaking of it. To pull it apart stitch by carefully accumulated stitch. To roll the raveled yarn into balls and begin again.

I could explore the process as ritual or symbol.  I could attribute life lessons to the experience.  Maybe I will.
For today, it is enough to know I have accepted it as a necessary act. I want to have a garment I wear, not one that hangs unused, though loved, in the closet.