A few years ago I scoured ebay for little black Singer sewing machines called Featherweights. I bought four. These are the model I learned on in my childhood. My mother did not spend much time with a needle but she was willing to keep my sisters and I well stocked with fabric. When I was in junior high I made a jacket with bold stripes on the
outside and a print with children's drawings for the lining. I thought myself very chic. One Christmas I made matching brown wool capes, knee length for my mother, mid calf for Wendy and floor length for Soni.
The small machines are perfect for introducing children to the intricacies of seam allowance, gathering and hems. But after a few years they got sluggish. I took them to a fix it place half an hour away, but he did not do them justice despite the hefty price. After
a year of them sitting on the table and every student avoiding them in favor of the Bernina I faced the facts. Last week I took them to the Bernina store for repairs.
Two women between the thirty foot distance from the door to the counter could not resist asking.
"Aren't those Featherweight cases? Did you inherit them?" What they wanted to say was, "CAN I HAVE THEM???" Featherweights have a
following, and for good reason. For a machine that is old enough to retire on a cushy pension, these girls keep humming over pleats and armholes with as much grace as they did in the forties.
A week later I picked them up and coughed over enough money to fly to California. But it seemed less stupid than having them atrophy. It has been a pleasure to try each of them in turn, and
hear them sing. To celebrate, I started another quilt. It has blocks for the book Brown Bear Brown Bear What Do You See?
A friend recently mentioned that she and her husband are going to a Marriage Encounter retreat. These are offered by the Catholic Church and predate all other marriage education programs.
"Our marriage is good, but I want it to be great," she wrote. Probably it will cost her less than I spent on sewing
machine rehab, but it still takes effort and attention. Sluggish gets stale, and being part of a relationship that hums is its own reward.
