A crisp hand stitch linen shirt, this is how I see myself. I was made perfectly. I was pristine. A shirt or blouse maybe, untouched, unsoiled and lovely beyond words. Each seam was made with perfect hand stitches all flat and without pucker. The sleeves set without flaw. The fabric was of the best weave and untreated. Not pure white or manipulated to be anything but its natural tender hue.
I was the color of warmth, a tender embrace, the gentleness that comes from all things loving woven. I know that creation is a question many ask about. When I look at my creation, my life, my path and my God I find that I am that perfect linen shirt. I was carefully wrapped in tissue and place in a lined box closed with a gold seal. I was top drawer. I was something to be cherished and prized.
Oddly, once the box was opened and this perfectly made shirt was put into use all that was perfection changed. It needed to be change and made to fit the need of the immediate. After all how could anything be as it should? All must be changed for the betterment of it and for everyone one else.
Change the collar and cuffs to fit what is uniformed and expected. No one would want cuffs like that and the buttons surely no one in their right mind would… well if we cut off the originals and add these white flat buttons that will be more becoming to the shirt. Ah, but the color is not right. It is too, too different. Bleach it and take the color out. You may need to place it is a bath of boiling water and bleach but it will be for the best. Yes, it is hard on the fabric but sacrifices must be made. Now isn’t that better! Yes, the luster is less and the shirt lacks a certain something but it is better. Oddly, it no longer holds a press and seems to lie oddly.
These are acceptable changes. Now the shirt may be seen in public. Yes, it should meet standards. Very good! Now then this shirt must withstand the wearing. The wearing… what is in the wearing?
The perfect shirt must now face the elements of wear. Cold weather, scorching tempts and rain. Blazing sun, sub zeros and grass stains from falls and trips. Look at the stains of foolishness and utter laziness. All the inappropriate choices that left a tear here and a hole there.
The perfect fabric is now thinning, it has lost some of its strength and has been stretch to meet and cover all needs in the wearing. It was never really suited for its duties but met every challenge to its best. This left seams a touch ragged. Still, wash it and press it for appearance is key!
A crisp hand stitch linen shirt is now old, wrinkled, limp and balled in a corner. What use is it? What is it worth? Mysteriously, much, no a great deal... The original odd little buttons are still in existence. Slowly and with force each button is replaced by its original. The cuffs are let out and never did bleach touch it again. Only warm water of soft suds would wash it. The linen shirt is allowed to dry in only sun and in a soft breeze. The blemishes are repaired not perfect but strong and defined.
The color is not white but warm and glowing. There is the slightest hint of luster again. Light dances joyfully on its threads. Each darning and every imperfection make it distinctive and original. No other shirt looks feels or has a lush scent like this one worn shirt.
Now the shirt is worn for what it is not for what is of fashion. It is not for what fits others. The design is as it should be. The color and texture draws many to want to be near it and touch it. It is what it was created to be perfectly made and well seasoned with soiling, puckers and flaws.
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