Ode to an Old Sewing Machine
There’s a special nostalgia about returning to your childhood home. My two sons and I are in the middle of an extended stay with my parents while we work out details of a family move. I’m sleeping in my old bedroom, watching my toddler play with my old toys, and looking in wonder at the evergreens in the backyard that used to be my height and are now five times my height. It’s both a walk down memory lane and a realization of how much has changed.
And that includes the sewing room. My mom and I have been doing a little sewing in the evenings. I get a kick out of using Mom’s tools, as they’re the ones I used when learning how to sew. Hello, old scissors, rulers with numbers slowly rubbing off, and the ironing board cover I once almost scorched. It’s like greeting old friends.
Including, it turned out, the sewing machine. Mom has a shiny (fairly new) computerized machine, purchased at my urging. (”You’ll love the needle threader, the automatic thread cutter, the variety of stitches!” I told her. And she does, sometimes.) However, when I was appliquéing the other night, the machine was having technical difficulties, so we pulled out her old machine. This is ”Old Faithful,” the 30-year-old Kenmore that she used to make me Halloween costumes as a kid, and that I learned to sew on.
Talk about bringing back memories! I remember sewing Cabbage Patch Kid clothes, finishing last-minute Christmas projects (some things never change!), and machine quilting my first quilt. I’d also forgotten that certain awkward twist of the hand needed to insert the bobbin, and the industrial feel of the backward stitch button.
No, it doesn’t have any of the bells and whistles that I lured her to the new machine with. I keep looking for the automatic up/down button before remembering to turn wheel instead. I have to squint to thread the needle all by myself. But it does have a killer zigzag that did the trick for the applique I needed to finish. We’ve got both machines out now—which I could go all ”English major” on you and suggest that perhaps it’s a symbolic tribute to the past and present. But really…who are we kidding? Two machines mean we can both sew at the same time!











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