Last Wednesday morning, I'm standing in my kitchen at 7 AM, staring down at my twenty-year-old coffee maker that just died with the most awful grinding noise you've ever heard. My first thought – and I'm embarrassed to admit this – was "well, time to buy a new one." That's how programmed we've become, isn't it? Something breaks, you throw it away, you buy another one. But then I remembered my mother, who would have sooner thrown away one of her children than a perfectly good appliance that just needed some attention.
So there I was, ninety minutes later, sprawled on my linoleum floor with the entire coffee maker in pieces around me, following along with some young man on YouTube who was explaining descaling procedures with the patience of a saint. I had my reading glasses perched on my nose, a dish towel spread out to keep the parts organized, and my neighbor's tool kit borrowed for the occasion.
You know what? I fixed the damn thing. Calcium buildup in the heating element, exactly like the video said. Cost me nothing but time and gave me the kind of satisfaction I haven't felt since… well, since I was young and we actually fixed things in this country instead of tossing them in the garbage the minute they hiccupped.
That repair got me thinking about how much we've lost. When I was growing up in Worcester, my father could fix anything – radios, toasters, even our old Buick that spent more time broken down than running. My mother darned socks until they were more darn than sock, patched clothes until the patches needed patches. Not because we were trying to save the planet, but because you didn't throw away something that could still be useful. Money was tight and waste was foolish, plain and simple.
Somewhere between then and now, we decided that repairing things was too much trouble. Cheaper to replace than fix, we told ourselves. More convenient. Why spend a Saturday afternoon mending a jacket when you can buy three new ones at Target for twenty bucks each? Except those three jackets will fall apart in six months, and the old one might have lasted another ten years with a little care.
The numbers are staggering when you actually look at them. We're throwing away fifty million tons of electronics every year – that's like tossing every commercial airplane ever built, annually. Fashion waste? Ninety-two million tons to landfills. And most of it could be fixed, altered, or repurposed if we just remembered how to use our hands for something other than scrolling through our phones.
My journey back to repairing started small, about three years ago. The zipper broke on my winter coat – a good coat, wool, the kind they don't make anymore. In the old days, I would have taken it to the dry cleaner and asked them to replace the zipper. Instead, I found myself at the fabric store, buying a new zipper and watching YouTube videos on zipper replacement.
My first attempt was… well, let's just say it wasn't pretty. The zipper went in crooked, puckered the fabric, and looked like it had been installed by someone wearing oven mitts. But it worked, the coat stayed warm, and I saved myself the cost of a new winter coat. More importantly, I remembered something I'd forgotten – that feeling of satisfaction when you fix something with your own hands.
From there, I got bolder. Started mending holes in sweaters, hemming pants that were too long, taking in clothes that had gotten too big as I've gotten older. None of my early work would win any beauty contests, but it all served its purpose. I set up a little mending basket in my living room, and Sunday evenings became my repair time, fixing the week's casualties while watching my programs.
The real breakthrough came when my laptop started making noise like a dying cat. The computer repair shop wanted $150 to look at it, with no guarantee they could fix it. For a laptop I'd paid $400 for three years earlier, that didn't make sense. So I found myself on something called iFixit – a website that's like a repair manual for everything you own. They had step-by-step instructions for opening my exact laptop model, complete with pictures and warnings about which screws were easy to strip.
I'm not going to lie, I was terrified. All those tiny screws, all those delicate ribbons and components. But I followed the instructions exactly, and it turned out the fan was just clogged with dust and cat hair. Twenty minutes with a can of compressed air and everything was quiet again. Total cost: $3.99 for the compressed air.
That repair changed everything for me. These devices that seem so mysterious and complicated – they're just machines like any other machine. They have parts that wear out, get dirty, come loose. Most of the time, fixing them isn't rocket science, it's just a matter of being patient and following directions.
Since then, I've fixed my vacuum cleaner (belt replacement), my toaster (crumb tray was warped), and even my oven (heating element burned out, but you can order replacement parts online for almost anything). Not every repair has been successful – I'll spare you the details of my attempt to fix the washing machine, which ended with a service call and some very wet towels – but I'm successful more often than not now.
The money savings alone are worth it. In the past three years, I've probably saved a thousand dollars in replacements and repair bills. But there's something else, something harder to put a price on. In a world where we pay other people to do everything for us, there's real satisfaction in being self-sufficient. Every successful repair is a small victory against the throwaway culture that's gotten us into this environmental mess.
For anyone thinking about learning to repair things, here's what I've learned works. Start with clothes – they're forgiving, the tools are cheap, and even a botched repair usually leaves you with something wearable. Basic sewing skills are easier to learn than you think, and once you can replace a button or mend a seam, you'll be amazed how many clothes you can rescue from the donation pile.
For electronics, start with cleaning before you try replacing anything. Dust, hair, and grime cause more problems than actual broken parts. My laptop repair was really just cleaning with extra steps. You'd be surprised how many "broken" devices just need a good cleaning to work like new again.
Invest in decent tools, but buy them as you need them. I started with a basic sewing kit from the drugstore and my husband's old toolbox. Now I have a proper repair kit with precision screwdrivers, good scissors, and a magnifying glass for reading tiny part numbers. But I bought each tool when I needed it for a specific project, not all at once.
Find your local Repair Café if there is one. These are volunteer events where people bring broken items and get help fixing them. I volunteer at ours now, mostly helping with clothing repairs, but I've learned so much from watching the electronics and appliance experts work. There's something wonderful about a room full of people fixing things together instead of throwing them away.
Don't be afraid to fail. My first sock darning looked like a spider had a seizure on my wool socks. My early clothing repairs were visible from space. But each failure taught me something, and the successes got more frequent and better looking over time. Even a ugly repair that works is better than a beautiful item in the landfill.
Document what you do. I keep a simple notebook with what I fixed, how I fixed it, and what I'd do differently next time. It's saved me hours when similar problems came up again. Nothing fancy, just "coffee maker descaled 3/15, used white vinegar, needed to run three rinse cycles to get rid of taste."
This isn't just about individual repairs, either. There's a bigger movement happening – the Right to Repair movement – that's fighting for laws requiring manufacturers to make parts, tools, and repair manuals available to regular people like us. Too many companies design products to be unfixable, forcing us to buy new ones when simple repairs would extend their life for years.
It's working, slowly. The European Union passed laws requiring appliance manufacturers to provide parts and repair manuals. Several states are considering similar laws. Even Apple, which used to fight tooth and nail against independent repairs, now sells parts and tools to repair shops. Every time we choose to repair instead of replace, we're supporting this movement.
Of course, not everything should be repaired. Sometimes replacement really is the better choice, especially for safety-critical items or when a repair would be more expensive and wasteful than replacement. I had to accept that my fifteen-year-old dehumidifier was so inefficient compared to modern models that replacement would actually use less energy in the long run. The key is knowing enough to make that decision thoughtfully instead of automatically reaching for your credit card.
Last month, I taught a basic mending class at our community center. Twelve people showed up, mostly women my age who remembered when sewing was just something you did, but also a few younger folks who wanted to learn. The most rewarding moment was watching a college student successfully replace a zipper in her backpack – a repair that saved her sixty dollars and probably prevented that backpack from ending up in a dumpster.
"I never thought I could fix anything," she said, packing up her supplies. "What else do you think I could learn to repair?"
That's exactly the right question. What else could we all learn to fix if we just decided to try? Our appliances, certainly. Our clothes and furniture, often. But maybe also our relationship with stuff, our assumption that everything is disposable, our acceptance that we need to buy new solutions to every problem.
My generation created a lot of this throwaway culture. We bought into the convenience of disposability, the appeal of always having the latest model, the idea that our time was too valuable to spend on maintenance and repair. Well, I have time now, and I'm using it to push back against some of the waste we normalized.
My coffee maker is still running perfectly, by the way. Makes better coffee than it did before the repair, actually – turns out it had needed descaling for years. And every morning when I hear that familiar, healthy percolating sound, I remember that most things aren't really broken, they just need a little attention from someone who cares enough to try.
Donna’s retired but not slowing down. She spends her days gardening, reusing, and finding peace in simpler living. Her writing blends reflection with realism—gentle reminders that sustainability starts at home, in daily habits and quiet choices.
