In March, the month of my birth, I asked for a sewing machine.
I know. Dorky.
I don’t care. Ask me if I care….
Ok… only a little… but mostly I don’t care that I’m admitting I’m a huge dork on the web.
I asked for a sewing machine and I got one. Let’s call it the Bernina Crap Stupid model number #Stupid101.
This thing jammed and froze and hated me. Andrew would often hear swearing coming from the general direction of the loft in conjunction with the sound of my machine eating my current project.
But I kept using it. I kept believing that it was the fact that I was a beginning sewer that caused the frequent frustrations.
I was wrong.
My mother and sister-in-law run a sewing camp during the summer. This year they asked me to join (not take classes but be an instructor). I was flabbergasted but agreed and showed up early monday morning of last week with my Bernina Crap Stupid model machine.
The entire day the machine jammed and ruined pillows and pajama pants. The entire day my mom had to come over and fix it. She would touch it and instantly it would be fixed.
“This baby loves me. You just have to talk sweet to it.” she said.
“What would you think of switching machines with me?” she said in quick succession seeing my fury build.
“Yeah. I mean, sure. You know. Whatever. I-i-it doesn’t matter to me.”
She called my bull and brought the machine in the next day to trade.
It was so heavy I couldn’t lift it for fear of going into early labor.
“What’s in this thing Mom? The entire Swiss National Guard? A huge condensed block of Toblerone?”
“It’s the weight of quality.”
Luckily my car didn’t drag on the highway back to my house and Andrew was successfully able to maneuver the tank upstairs to my sewing area.
I sat staring at it for a few moments, afraid to start and find myself disappointed again.
I knew I had to…so I did.
I pulled the thread through the zipzag maze of hooks and eyes and lowered my needle to then lift the bobbin thread out of its little cave. I gently pulled the two threads behind the presser foot and slid my fabric over the feed dogs. I set the presser foot down with a clunk that said, “It’s too late to turn back now.”
Ever so hesitantly I began to press my foot on the peddle and there it was…
The sound of victory coming from my “new” Bernina 830.
A sound so lovely I have hardly words to describe it. A sound that echoed precision and the words, “I kick a–“.
A sound that could cure AIDS. A sound that breathes peace as it goes. A sound that could destroy all nuclear weapons without harming a single person.
And when I finished the stitch the machine rang like Tinker Bell might have been inside – sprinkling gold dust all over my sewing.
This machine has made me a better sewer.
I can easily see myself writing a blog a week on how wonderful this machine is.
I can easily see myself searching the ebay and antique stores for other 830s and collecting them. I can see myself starting a club. I can see Andrew considering counseling for me away from my most prized possession.
“Thank you for this Grammy. I’d like to thank my parents and my husband and my delightful daughter. I want to thank God but most of all…I want to thank my Bernina. I love you baby! WHOOOO!”
I know you are.
But if you only knew how glorious it is.
I mean…look at what it made!
I couldn’t have done this. I basically let this enchanted machine do what it does best. I can’t take credit.
It’s the Swiss. Chocolate, knives, sewing machines, general prettiness – what else have they mastered?
In other parts of my world: Winston found my pile of snotty tissues from this week’s cold. He ate them…(eye rolling) He ATE them!