The only downside of catching up with my mending is my basket is now empty. Oh, I'm not saying I enjoy mending. Relief flooded me when I grabbed that last garment. But this isn't really about me and how I felt, but rather how forlorn my basket now seems as it rests under my machine, waiting... Oh, but what do you wait for, dear basket? For months and months didn't we dream of sorting through all that stuff I'd piled into you? First, the jumper I'd made from African fabrics long ago. I cannibalized a thrift store lace blouse and made it into a dress. Then a tawny-colored dress with a rip near the hem left your space and was soon returned to my wardrobe, ready for all my cleaning shenanigans. A lovely new floral satin skirt I found for twenty-five cents refused to heed decency: I sewed up the front button seam. All that remains now is a lap quilt my Grandma never finished; I'll back it another day. Sure, none of these garments were perfect. But they were your fr...