For a long time, I have wondered about the sewing machines that belonged to my grandmothers. The one from my maternal grandmother is a Singer 66-6, serial number AC741270 (shown above). It is still in its much-used cabinet. And it still has its user manual and attachments. It has been in my possession for about 25 years. I had never attempted to plug it in or turn it on. I didn't even know if it was safe to do so.
The other machine is a Singer 401A, serial number NB700931, that belonged to my paternal grandmother. She was an accomplished sewist who had several different machines, including two sergers. She made her own clothes her entire life. She made clothes for other people in the family, too. I still have and wear several things she made for me more than 30 years ago. Shopping with her was funny, as she would look at a ready-to-wear item, quickly assess how it was constructed, and then remark, "There's nothing to it!" One of my earliest memories is of going to her house to spend the night. I had forgotten my nightgown. My grandmother pulled out a piece of white satin and quickly made up a nightgown with a little pearl button closure at the back of the neck. Her machine has been in my possession for about a decade, as it is the one that came in the sewing machine cabinet my father built. For that decade, it has lurked folded down, underneath the very computer I am using to write this. I have a manual for this machine, but in spite of the sewing machine cabinet, most of the accessories have been lost.
These two machines sat in a sad state of disuse because when I needed to sew, I would pull out my Singer Stylist 538, serial number J7179149. This is the same entry-level model I used in home economics class in middle school, when I learned to sew on a machine. I'd had it repaired once before, almost 30 years ago. It isn't the fanciest machine, but I knew how to thread it and how to use it.
When we got home from the April eclipse, I resolved to finally finish the Jedi robe. I do not recall how many years ago I told Larry, our dear friend from my husband's days in Maryland, that I would make him a Jedi robe. I found plenty of instructions on the internet. It didn't look difficult. We watched this year's eclipse from Larry's backyard in Fort Worth, Texas. I was eager to send a thank-you. And with May the Fourth on the horizon, the timing seemed perfect. I had taken the robe on our Texas trip so I could pin the hem. Thus, all I needed to do was sew a couple meters of straight line and declare victory.
I got about halfway through the hem when I broke a needle. That was strange, but I had also sewn through a thick section where a couple pieces of fabric came together. I changed to a thicker needle. The machine bent it. I tried again. The machine ran okay for a few centimeters, then it bent that needle, too.
Arghhhhhhh!
I took my machine to A Crafted Cottage. For those of you who don't know Atlanta geography, I'm in Mableton, which is northwest of the city. Suwanee is northeast and a ways out. In good traffic, it is about an hour to get there, so two hours round-trip.
Remember, Frank only picks up and drops off machines once a week.
That first iteration Frank called me and said I probably wouldn't want to fix my machine. The internal pieces are mostly plastic. After nearly 50 years, they aren't worth the trouble to repair.
Okay, but I'd still like to have a working sewing machine.
This meant a second drive to Suwanee to deliver the two sewing machines that belonged to my grandmothers. I had no idea whether one or both could be repaired, or would be worth repairing. The 66-6 was in its original cabinet in such a way it couldn't be removed. (The cord went down through a metal hole.)
In the end, Frank was able to repair both of my grandmothers' machines.
I missed the deadline for May the Fourth. But Larry's birthday is coming up, so there's that. With all the iterations plus my time at the John C. Campbell Folk School, it was the end of May when I finally picked up all three machines — two repaired and one to take to appliance recycling. When I got the machines, I included a thank-you note for Frank as well as payment. Melissa, the shop owner, said no one had ever written a thank-you note before. That surprised me. How many people can repair a sewing machine? What's more, I looked up the serial numbers. The 66-6 was manufactured during the summer of 1929. The roaring twenties were still roaring. World War I was still The Great War. Black Friday and the Great Depression had not yet happened. The 401A was built in 1956, 27 years later, and a year before Sputnik I. My machine was built in the 1970s, so about 20 years after that. I'm amazed Frank has the skills to work on such a range of machines!
Frank rewired the 66-6 so it has a modern foot pedal instead of the thigh pedal. I didn't even know a thigh pedal was a thing! I sat down with the user manual and some thread. I spent an afternoon making a pouch to store some embroidery items. That gave me a chance to practice and get a sense of how the 66-6 runs. It runs nice. It sews a straight line. And then, using a 95-year-old machine, I finished Larry's Jedi robe.
Crafting is about many things. It is about creativity. It is about making
things by hand for those we love, as a way to communicate physically,
visually, obviously. It can also be about connecting with other people,
including our friends and ancestors who practiced the same craft. There aren't
words to express what it means to me to sit at my grandmothers'
sewing machines and make something, just like they did. Thank you to Melissa
and Jacob at A Crafted Cottage. And a thank-you from the bottom of my heart to
Frank, the 7th-level cleric of Singer, who can resurrect sewing machines!
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