I had the good fortune to stumble across an old photo, of my mother's polish sewing machine on my desk. Back when I lived at home.
I can almost feel the stuffyness of my second-story room room, cramped with antiques, books, costumes, and other knick-knacks. The overwhelming depression and anxiety of my teenage years coat the walls as thickly as the dust does.
(Thank Christ I had creative outlets back then.)
This was the machine I learned to sew on, and it endured my abuse for well over 15 years (on top of whatever my mother used to feed through it... God knows what this poor thing has seen.) After sewing through 4 layers of leather for some suspenders on one of my many repairs and updates to the Frodo Baggins costume... it finally broke. As far as I know, its still in some attic, with the intent of being repaired. And, as far as I know, it probably never will be.
So today I salute the loyal service of this beautiful beast, and hope that my American Singer can put up with me as well as this one did.
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