In which a beloved belt gets its second wind

We go to our local shoe repair store to see if they can fix my husband’s leather belt. Its buckle has retired after many years of service and it’s time for a piece from the younger generation to take the helm.  

The store is often busy; this morning, it’s quiet. Zombie by the Cranberries is playing. It’s grungy and melancholy and impossible not to sing. 

We’ve erroneously assumed that belt buckles are standardised. The owner measures the width of the belt and various potential replacements before he finds a buckle with the right credentials. The plain, silver buckle is perfect. It will allow the woven pattern that runs down the belt’s centre to continue to shine.  

The owner unpicks the stitches on the back of the belt to free the original buckle. Heading over to the sewing machine, he changes the black thread for a brown one that better matches the belt. Sitting at the machine, he threads the needle by hand. This experience is a first for us but for him it’s routine.

He turns the hand crank smoothly as the music transitions to Greased Lightnin’. There’s whiplash for a moment at the change in mood, but I am nothing if not a child of the 90s, so I embrace it. The owner is relaxed as he starts stitching the leather to encase the new buckle. 

I did enough dance performances of Greased Lightnin’ as a kid that it feels compulsory to do at least one round of the verse, sweeping my right arm across my chest, followed by the classic double pump up and out. 

I thought I’d been subtle about it, but the owner comments that I’m like the character from the film. That seems like a stretch since Sandy and I don’t even share a hair colour. And while Olivia Newton John and I share a nationality, I realise that he thinks we’re American. “Fortunately for us right now, we’re not,” I say. He laughs and we tell him we’re Australian. 

He’s from Nicaragua. He says his country is beautiful and has plenty of good food that’s also spicy (unlike Spain). He pauses, and then asks if English is Australia’s national language. He’s a little confused when we confirm, and then say it’s because England colonised Australia. What about Scotland and Wales? I’m mostly happy that I haven’t been asked about kangaroos immediately after stating my nationality. (I’m from the city. We didn’t see kangaroos growing up unless we went to the wildlife sanctuary.) 

While we’re chatting, the owner is putting the last stitches in place. The belt looks almost new, and it feels like we should be paying more than six euros for it. 

It feels good to have a moment of connection with this stranger, who’s also moved here to start a new life. And to do so while repairing something rather than replacing it. There’s power in our every-day objects filling up with memories like this. 

What have you recently chosen to repair rather than replace? What would you like to?

What do you wish it was easier to repair in your local community? What small step could you take to start that process?  

Sketches from Granada celebrates every-day moments of connection with strangers, friends and ourselves. I know how easy it is not to be present in your life, and I hope these sketches inspire you to seek out the moments worth savouring in your own life. 

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