My relationship with my sewing machine is personal. Goldy works hard on my behalf and I am indebted to her. We have worked together to create a pile of quilts, doll clothes, fairy dresses, and Christmas gifts. 

 

Sometimes we hit a snag. Just now I was free motion quilting a star, when the stitch line abruptly erupted into a spider's web on the bottom. I could tell even before I looked, because of the change in sound. My knee jerk response was, I am ashamed to admit, to blame Goldy. Why was she being difficult? Then I did what I tell my sewing students. 

 

Check the threading. 

 

There is was. The yellow strand had gotten wrapped around the guide, rendering it less like a guide and more like those cleats on the dock that tether a boat in a storm. Obviously the machine struggled to cooperate. I pulled out the thread and gently, respectfully slid it into the pivot points designed to support without dragging. 

 

And away we went. Goldy and me. 

 

This week a friend was ornery. I am chagrined to admit that my first response was to blame her. But after looking and listening more closely I discovered that she is tangled up with legitimate fears. Someone close to her tested positive for the virus, which could mean that she would too, which would mean that her children could not go to school, and she could not make a deadline at work. Her life is already a steady pull of responsibility, but this snafu threatened to make her snap. 

 

Instead of irritation, I felt a surge of empathy. Of course she barked. Rather than listing reasons to blame her, I opened up to the possibilities of helping her. Could I bring a meal? Maybe her girls would enjoy a sewing lesson in the event they have to quarantine. I am, after all, invincible. 

 

It turns out that supporting her feels much better than finding fault.