Thread The Needle, Singer and Covid19

Back when I was seventeen… decades ago, I owned a vintage Singer sewing machine from the 1800’s. The kind made before electricity. Found it at a roadside sale. Family was trying to raise money after the death of a loved one and put it out there for passerby’s, hoping to make a deal. Cost $20 or $30. My husband at the time, bought it for me, so I could sew baby clothes. You had to use a push pedal to power it and it was a daunting task. So using it, I was never a great seamstress, but I managed to turn out a thing or two. A few years later, my Nana bought me a more modern sewing machine, that got the job done much faster. I loved it. Used it… mostly to make hems and repairs. The old Singer languished away in the corner of the living room being ignored. When I got divorced, the babies and the sewing machines came with me… but the machines remained unused in the back of my parents garage… until I figured out what to do with my life. I eventually went back to school and worked as a store detective to pay the bills. One night… I met my current hubby at a party, and the rest is history. We’ll be married 40 years this July and will be together 42 years in October. Now you can guess my age. Anyway, he adopted my daughters and we went on to make a good life for ourselves… taking the sewing machines with us. I never touched them again until our daughters got into the Girl Scouts. Then… there were badges to sew, projects to do etc. However, when my hubby suddenly lost his job and we were strapped for cash, we were going to sell those sewing machines. But… thought otherwise, and shipped them back East to my parents, instead. My Nana was thrilled to have the modern machine and sent me some cash. My mom displayed the old Singer in her living room. Time passed, the kids grew up, my Nana died, and my mom no longer wanted the Singer. So her and my dad, put the two machines in the van, and drove them halfway across the country, to give them back to me. The modern machine got put up in the attic, out of reach. I had begun taking everything to a local seamstress. But… my hubby wasn’t thrilled about the vintage Singer sitting in our living room again, since my first husband had given it to me… so we gave it, to our older daughter, who had recently got married. Her husband didn’t like it either, so it got stuffed in the back of their garage, left untouched for ten years, until my daughter got divorced too. Then we had to move it to her new house. She didn’t want it inside either. Time and neglect had taken it’s toll on the old Singer and it wasn’t in good shape at all. I encouraged my daughter to find an antique buff, that might buy it, to restore it. But that suggestion fell on deaf ears… and it ended up in a big old barn, full of varmints... on her property, that she uses for storage. That’s where it still is. Sad... when I think about it, remembering all the times I used it as a young woman starting out. The reason it came to mind again, is because of Covid19. I bought a handmade mask a month ago, sewn by a nice lady, somewhere here in Suburbia, using her sewing machine. She made it with love, to help those of us, vulnerable to the virus. I loved this mask, until I discovered the elastic holding it in place over my ears... has frayed on one side, barely holding on by a thread, making it unusable. Without my old sewing machines readily available… I had to tackle the situation, using old weary hands that have neuropathy, to fix it. I went into my Nana’s old sewing tin and found an ancient wooden spool of thread. Being older than dirt… and needing new glasses, it took about 25 minutes for me to thread the needle. But I eventually did. And I’m here to say, my old sewing skills kicked back into place, and I fixed that mask with the same love that made it. So… thankfully I still have protection of sorts, from the Grim Reaper. But this exercise… reminded me of long ago… when I did stuff like this, on a routine basis, with little or no trouble. It makes my heart ache for simpler times. So much has changed in the world. My old vintage Singer is rotting away…. in a dark place, far removed from the hustle and bustle… of a technically advanced society, that has all but forgotten... this important relic of the past. But sitting here in my humble abode, I NEVER will. REST IN PEACE, my dear SINGER. Rest in Peace.