Here is the sweater.  Beautiful wool.  Beautifully woven. A garage sale treasure of a find.

It was commissioned by the mother of the seller from a local weaver in Sarnia, southwestern Ontario more than thirty years ago for the daughter graduating from nursing. 

It had worn and aged well but there were two
areas that needed fixing.

Here is the woman who made it so many years ago.  I thought of her as I sat outdoors in late afternoon sun and stopped those runaway stitches.  Sarnia is close to my beloved hometown of St. Thomas and an uncle grew up there.  Perhaps the families knew each other.

It is not an 'invisible' mend in material or method;  it reflects the two participants.  The stitches have been corralled and the sweater will go on for perhaps another thirty years or more.

When I bought the sweater I did not think it would be for me but the warmth of it on my lap as I worked on it in autumn breeze and thinking about the weaver made me wonder if perhaps it was for my use.

Then, when it was finished and I tried it on for the first time – no.  It does not fit.  Someone is waiting on it.  I am a contented catalyst.