When my son was in elementary school, he and his classmates read Holes.  The book explores manipulation, crime, punishment, and redemption.  I read it with him.  We talked about its lessons, about the holes that the main character and his friends had to dig and the motivation of the grown-ups who controlled them.

Last week, I discovered another kind of hole, ones nibbled in my fine wool sweater by moths burrowing in an unprotected storage cubby.  I got on the internet and searched for a local re-weaver, laughing a bit at my carelessness.  The incident called to mind the book from my son’s younger days.  As I browsed web pages, I thought about our discussions about the book around the dinner table. 

I messaged someone through an online site about repairing my sweater.  That woman did not respond, but my message apparently got forwarded to others and one of them did.  Last Friday, I drove to Stockton to tender my garment to the young lady, who had offered to fix the damage for a reasonable price.  She examined a second piece, but deemed it too riddled with holes to be fixed.   We arranged a pick-up date,  I thanked her, and then she turned to walk back into her home.

When she pivoted, I saw the back of her sweatshirt.   I called out, “Can I take a picture of that message?  It’s so great!”  She smiled over her shoulder, nodded, and stood still for me.

I might have this tattooed in reverse on my forehead so that every time I look in the mirror, I remind myself of this clean and perfect truth.  At the very least, I knew that I had to share this with anyone whom I could reach.  We all can use this gentle reminder, which I would never have seen if it had not been for a bunch of holes.

It’s the thirty-first day of the ninety-fourth month of My Year Without Complaining.  Life continues.