‘Grandma! You’ve been in my closet again! I told you to please not do that. I can’t find anything. Where is my grey hoodie?’ I asked loudly from the top of the stairs.

I heard her laboriously sighing from the living room. ‘I didn’t touch anything.’ She answered, trying and failing, to sound indignant. 

‘Then where is it? I knew you’d move it so I deliberately put it in my closet before I left. And now it is not there.’

‘Well, I tidied a bit while you were gone…’

‘PLEASE stop doing that, where is it?’

‘I…I put it in the back bedroom…I think.’ 

I rolled my eyes, knowing it was unlikely to be in there and was proved right. Sighing, I turned around and said: ‘Nope, not there!’

‘It must be!’

‘I was gone for less than 24 hours! And I tidied before I left!’

‘Oh I can’t remember. It’ll turn up.’

‘PLEASE stop doing this!’ I said irritated.

‘I promise’ was her answer.I knew it was a lie and I found my favourite grey hoodie in the bedding box two weeks later.

My grandma, I think due to a lifetime of hating ‘being idle’, likes to do some completely unnecessary (and unhelpful) ‘tidying’ once in a while. Usually, I set up a task for her to do like folding laundry or helping prune houseplants that she can do sitting down and gives her something to focus on while I’m working. If I ever leave for a period of time (very rarely, usually on quick work trips) she will always takes it upon herself to ‘tidy’. There is no need for it, as I have prepared everything she needs in advance, but (very) old habits die hard, I guess. Her usual tidying focus is to go into my room take out clothes that are already put away, and put them somewhere else.

Over the past 3 years, many of my clothes have gone missing or have been found in the weirdest of places: I found my sunglasses in the drawer where we keep plugs and spare bits and bobs. My T-shirts in her scarf drawer, and inexplicably, one of my trainers I had since replaced in a bucket in the garage.

As much as it annoys me, it also worries me that she might be losing her mind. Thankfully, these ‘senior moments’ only seem to happen when I’m not there.

This isn’t the first time she’s fiddled in our fashions.

When my sister and I were teenagers, we’d both got brand new jeans as part of a Christmas shopping trip in Manchester. They were slightly ripped and frayed – the height of fashion at the time. We’d paraded around the living room in our new jeans to show grandma our present at which she dutifully ‘OOh’ed’ and ‘AAh’ed’.

A few days later, as I was getting ready to go visit family, I pulled my new jeans out of the closet and to my horror, found all the frays and rips patched up with large, mismatched squares of blue fabric. Before I could react, I heard my sister yell: ‘Grandmaaaaa!’  and knew instantly what had happened.

I was slightly annoyed, but more because of the waste of new clothes that were now unwearable. However, this secret sewing caused consternation with my fashionista sister and mother. I went downstairs to find them both trying to unpick the stitches of the patches at either end of my sister’s trousers.

‘Grandma, why did you do this?’ My sister asked, clearly annoyed.
‘Well, they had holes in them. You can’t go out like that! I don’t know where on earth you bought them. I matched the colours as best I could!’

‘But grandma, they’re ruined! They’re MEANT to look like that, they’re MEANT to be ripped! It’s FASHION!’ My sister answered, exasperated.

‘They were brand new, too.’ Added my mother, pointedly.

‘Fashion? To have holey trousers?! I don’t think so!’ Was her response, not backing down.

After my annoyance had waned, I found the whole (pardon the pun) thing quite amusing. We did have to keep a close eye on grandma’s sewing attempts from then on and be sure to tell her when something was fashionable versus in need of repair.

Apart from those mishaps, Grandma was a talented seamstress and made some of our clothes when we were babies. She loved knitting and made us matching baby outfits. When we moved to France, and saw her less often, she would knit entire blankets for us when we came to visit. The patterns were intricate and the colours well matched, I was always impressed with what she produced. Her most creative endeavours came when we were a little older and started playing with dolls. She would knit outfits for them based on our requests. I vividly remember one of our dolls having a full set of horse riding (my life-long passion) clothes, including a riding hat and jodhpurs made entirely out of wool.

I asked her to teach me to knit when I was a teenager, to which she answered that she ‘just got on with it’ in her typical, unfussy style. After some questioning, I managed to get her to show me the basic knitting stitch which was helpful in terms of actually being able to ‘get on with it’. Unfortunately, I do not have my grandmother’s dexterity and only managed to make a few uneven scarfs and an ill-fitting pink woollen coat for the family dog. 

As grandma’s eyesight deteriorated, she gradually had to give up knitting and sewing. I know she misses it so if ever I have a loose button, I ask her to help me fix it. I do the sewing and she instructs me. She complains that she wishes she could do it herself but I think she secretly enjoys it. She’s also probably thinking of the most creative place she can hide that piece of clothing when I’m away.