My sister-in-law called me today and asked me to come over to help her thread her sewing machine, a vintage Singer inherited from a relative. Okay, I wasn't too thrilled about that - I mean, I'm kinda busy right now. So I put off calling her back for another hour.
I did go over, and we both couldn't figure out how to get the bobbin to work. The machine is older than dirt, and, you guessed it, no manual. Her neighbor, the seamstress couldn't figure it out either. So I offered my sewing machine.
My machine is inherited from my mother, who worked for New Home Sewing Machine Company in the late 1960s. Using her employee discount, mother bought the machine, and we've all used it (okay, not my dad or my brother). So I promised to go fetch it, thinking, oh my gosh, I haven't used that thing in years, but I remember it being heavy. I prayed a male member of my household was home.
No one was home. I opened the garage and saw the machine sitting in a big wet spot. That's not good. It was filthy, so I wiped it off and tried to pick it up. That's when I saw that the bottom had rotted away and there were termite worms all over it. I ran back into the house and waited for my husband to come home.
Exhausted, he went into the garage to see it. Frankly, it's garbage now, but it was mother's and I hoped there might be a way to salvage it. So I asked my son, the cabinet maker, what to do. He thought, maybe, they could build another box for it, but my husband promised me another machine that I could let sit for years if I discard this.
Too much to think about, too much to worry about. If I opt for another machine (which I won't let my husband store on the garage floor!), I think mother will understand. If I opt to save this machine, I hope my husband understands.