No sooner had I reported on my sewing progress than my sewing machine died. A lot. The scene went like this:
Me: My denim diaper bag really needs to be fixed, I’ll quickly do that before I make Neirin’s shorts.
SewingMachine: Hmmmmm, not so sure
Me: You can do it sewing machine, it is only two layers of denim and I am using the appropriate needle so all should be well.
SewingMachine: Seriously don’t think this is happening do you?
Me: I am filled with optimism.
5 or 6 stitches in machine stalled, the needle stuck in the material. A suspicious burning smell wafted past my nose. Bugger.
Later that evening I explained to Stephen that my machine wasn’t working, would he look at it for me? He replies “Sure, as long as there wasn’t a burning smell it can probably be fixed.” Ummmmmmm. Oh.
Now I could take it to the repair shop but it would probably cost more to repair than to buy a new machine, it was that cheap. In fact the sewing machine that I had in the UK 7/8 years ago, that was second hand but great, was a better machine than this one bought new 6 years ago.
It was while I contemplated this fact that I realised something. I don’t like my sewing machine. I never did really. It isn’t very powerful and I’ve not really been able to progress with my sewing because I knew my machine couldn’t handle it. I did more complicated things before I moved here and I’d sort of convinced myself that I’m not very good anymore. Fact is it isn’t fun to sew on a machine that constantly snags, catches and sticks. So maybe it’s good that I now have an excuse/reason to buy a new one, right?
Weeeeeell, sort of. Because I’ve gone and fallen in love, yes indeedy. Before my old machine was fully cold I was out slutting my way round sewing shops test driving new, computerised machines. Oh. My. Goodness. It is a whole new world of beauty and wonder. And cash, can’t forget that part. The one I really loved was around $800. That’s right. And given that we are currently spent up building a house and buying, you know, food and stuff it is going to have to wait. Which is ok, I can handle that.
Except. It is weird to not have a sewing machine. I didn’t notice how much I sew until I suddenly realised that I couldn’t. No loot bags for Huwyl’s birthday, no quick birthday present for a child’s birthday. No more experimenting with new sewing books. I haven’t been without a sewing machine of my own for nearly 20 years and before that I could always use my Mum’s. I now see how much I take for granted the ability to just make it myself and now I feel at a bit of a loss. Bereft even. So while I’m excited at the possibility of a machine with so many bells and whistles it is practically an orchestra, it is a long way off (if you have the patience of a two year old, like me) and in the meantime…no sewing.
For most people it is no biggy to be sans sewing machine but I grew up in a house where creating, making were a part of every day life. When I was 18 I would buy crazy clothes from second hand shops and adjust them on my Mum’s machine. My whole life my Mum made clothes and toys for us, it is second nature to say ‘I wonder if I could make that?’. So while my machine wasn’t the best I will miss it and the fun of making for a while. Is it weird that the thought of simply buying strikes me as, well, boring?
R.I.P Sewing Machine. Sorry about the denim bag.