L is for........a link to my mother

The sewing machine sits, quiet and dusty, in my basement, one last part of my mom that I hold on to. She was a wiz with it, creating clothing, blankets, doll clothes, and even draperies. There was nothing she couldn't whip up and she was truly a master with it. I on the other hand, failed at every attempt. When I was in junior high, back when it was part of the curriculum, I had Home Economics. We learned to make copy-cat Orange Julius smoothies, bake a cake, and sew an apron. I was not new to any of this, after all I had the Amazing Rose in the house, and I already knew how to do basic things in the kitchen. I had helped make cakes and knew how to read a recipe. I even knew how to read a pattern and to cut out fabric, something she taught me when she was learning herself about making drapes for our house. But I struggled with the sewing machine. Every. Single. Time.

I was convinced it hated me (still am). It purposely added drag to the bobbin so that my thread would snap. My fabric would get caught up and bunch, making a holy mess. I cursed it (under my breath, of course) and eventually melted into tears. "Making an apron shouldn't be this hard, and I'm being graded!" I cried, hoping she would come to my rescue. And she did. I told my teacher that Mom did most of the sewing (it was so obvious!), and that I would take a lower grade. I ended getting a B. Well, Mom ended up with a B. I also got a B on the lined book bag we were required to make the following semester. I still have both the apron and the book bag, as a reminder or testament to the fact that I had some talent and ability, even if it didn't include a sewing machine.

I think I will call the repairman and see about getting that sewing machine looked at - maybe it isn't me after all....