A Woman's Machine

What is it about sewing? Those who don't sew willfleece, jersey and terry. There were sleeping bags for
never understand, and those of us who do sew don'tthe Cabbage Patch Kids, layettes for baby dolls, little
even need to discuss it. Every seamstress and sewingcorduroy jumpers and colorful Lycra skating costumes.
hobbyist will tell you: There's something therapeuticWhen my daughter was nine years old, we retired
about sewing. Sit down to your machine in winter, andfrom the Army and settled in my husband's family
it's as if a balmy summer breeze is blowing throughhomestead in Green Bay. Our son was almost ready
your mind. Sit down to your machine in summer, andto go away to college, so we gave our daughter the
the heavy, humid air lifts to offer a sensation asbiggest bedroom, where she could house all her Barbie
refreshing as a mountain stream. You lose yourself indolls and art materials and still have room for
sewing, don't you?sleepovers. That room needed to have a little-girl look
Some of my earliest childhood memories involve mythat would grow along with her, so I brought my
mother's sewing machine. I can still recall hersewing machine into her room and sewed curtains and
excitement when her sewing machine was delivered invalances, quilt covers and cushion covers, table drapes
its sturdy, polished cabinet, accompanied by a specialand pillow covers. She watched me, just as I had
chair with compact drawers for organizing threads andwatched my mother sew and, one day, she asked
tools. What an investment that must have been forwhether she might try her hand. I taught her how to
my mill-worker father supporting a wife and three verysew a straight seam, and another generation was
small children in an 800-square-foot house at the edgeinitiated into the art of sewing. As the years passed,
of town! What a dream-come-true it must have beenshe mended and altered her clothes on my machine,
for my mother!breaking needles and throwing off the timing, but
My father worked shifts and, when he worked thelearning the joy of the needle.
night shift, my mother would sew the night away,Our daughter got her first sewing machine when she
waiting for him to come home. (When did she sleep?!) Iwas 21; it was our wedding gift to her and her
remember waking in the night to a dreamy scenehusband. I know it sounds like a funny gift for a bridal
outside my bedroom doorway: a soft glow of lightcouple, and I took my son-in-law-to-be aside and
around the sewing machine, the radio playing big bandexplained to him: "This will seem like it's more for her
tunes in the background, and my mother bent over herthan it is for you, but, trust me, you will be eternally
sewing machine, gathering taffeta and organdy for ourhappy this machine has come into your home." He
little dance costumes. I remember her humming to theknew of our mutual love of sewing, and he was able
music, always a smile on her face and a light in herto guess what was in that box - and he was genuinely
eyes. Somehow she'd sense that one of us hadhappy to receive it. His wife has not disappointed him.
awakened, and she'd turn from the machine and squintShe sews most of their children's clothes and all their
into the darkness. I'd quickly squeeze my eyes closed,cloth diapers. She sews fleece hats and skirts and
and then the reassuring thrum of the machine would lullcurtains and covers, and she knows the therapy of
me back to slumber. Her sewing machine was mysewing.
symbol of stability and serenity.Several years ago our daughter-in-law, a champion
Stealing time to sew during a busy workday ofknitter who teaches knitting online and runs a
cooking, cleaning and laundry must have been rare andsuccessful knitwear business, felt she needed to add
wonderful for her. I know she managed to do it nowsewing to her repertoire. To my good fortune, I was
and then, because I recall standing by her side,visiting her and our son in New York at the time, and
mesmerized by the automated stitching action, thrilledshe asked me to help her choose a sewing machine. I
by her sure hands and deft use of curious little toolscalled my uncle in Connecticut who had owned a
and equipment. And that is how I learned to sew. Isewing machine store for years; he gave us some
never took a Home Economics class or a sewingsound advice. Then we shopped, finally ending up, late
lesson. My mother explained how to use a pattern andon a Friday afternoon, in a Hassidic Jewish community
why to cut this way or that and how to gather andwhich we knew to house a small sewing machine
why to do a blind hem by hand. Everything I know andstore specializing in the brand we sought. The kind
love about sewing came from those magical momentsgentleman, his ear locks tucked up in his yarmulke,
in our crowded, crooked house, watching a motherdemonstrated the machine and taught my
who was clearly enchanted by the homely art ofdaughter-in-law the basics of its use. He accepted her
sewing.credit card and then we were off to the fabric store.
It was the most natural thing, then, for me to scrimpThe expert knitter took to sewing like a fish to water,
and save, as a college student, and make my first bigquickly mastering techniques I have yet to try. I
purchase in the sewing machine department. At thesnapped some photos of her at the machine for the
age of twenty, when other girls were investing infirst time; they remind me of the joy of opening the
stereos and transistor radios, I selected a Singerdoor to unlimited possibilities and creative fulfillment for
sewing machine and made a down payment. Eachanother generation.
week I'd scrape together what I could and make aIn 2003 my father died. My mother sold the tiny house
payment until, at last, I was able to bring it home to myon the edge of town and moved to a cozy apartment
rented room. It's the only sewing machine I've everin a senior complex. She took her computer and
owned, and the only machine of any kind for which Imicrowave and Bose radio, but there would be no
have cheerfully taken full responsibility, oiling, lubricating,room for the sewing machine in its large cabinet with
cleaning and arranging for occasional professionalits special chair. She had sewed on that machine for
service. Two years after I made my investment, Imore than 50 years, and she knew, beyond question,
sewed my wedding gown and veil on that machine,that a woman cannot live happily and healthfully
my mother at my side.without a sewing machine. So she went out and
My husband was a military man, and we lived thebought a modern little portable for mending and small
nomadic life, dragging our children and pets andalterations, just the right size for her apartment. And
belongings through five states and uncountable houses,then her eldest granddaughter stepped forward and
trailers and "quarters." Always my Singer went withasked, "Grandma, do you think I could have your
me, and always I quickly sewed curtains for our newsewing machine? I don't know how to sew, but I could
abode. When I was very pregnant with our secondlearn." And so the machine that introduced me to the
child, my husband would get ready for work at Fortenchanting world of fabrics and stitches now thrums in
Rucker, Alabama, and then, just before he left for thethe background as my mother's two little
day, he'd lift my sewing machine onto the kitchen tablegreat-granddaughters sleep to the sounds of their
so I could sew while he was at work and our little boymother's first efforts at the needle. Sewing: a womanly
was in school. Then, finally I had a baby girl, and myart for all generations.
sewing machine sang through yards of eyelet and