TVQ ESSAY: Machines

TVQ ESSAY: Women Who Sew and the Machines Who Love Them

By Lynn Holland

Women are what we stitch. Our sewing machines define us, probably more so than we realize. Our creativity is more often limited by the shortcomings of the machine than by the imagination. That Pfaff or Elna can determine if our day goes well or badly, strictly by the state of its tension setting. It can certainly help us develop tension of our own. We want the machine with the fewest limits, but we have to stay within our budgets; we read FAQs on different models and agonize on- and off-line about the "right" machine. It's not dissimilar to selecting a spouse.

I just recently realized that the sewing machines I've loved the most were new only to me. The relic that started my sewing career was the result of my mother's most disappointing birthday present. Her well-meaning parents gifted her with an old White portable, which was probably the most insensitive possible selection for someone with an aversion to needlework of any kind. For me, however, it opened the world of sewing, and by age eleven I was making most of my own clothes. The White went with me to college, then off to Boston after graduation and on to California when I married. I loved that machine; I could take it apart on the dorm floor and cure almost any problem it developed. When I finally got a shiny new machine, the White returned to my mother, who kept it around long enough not to offend me before she disposed of it (and a decade of hurt feelings) at a yard sale.

There were two shiny machines that helped me stitch my way through my children's elementary school years. They were adequate and had many more features than the straight-stitch, forward-only White. But I never developed the same bond that I had with my first machine. They both evolved into finicky problem machines that I used to fantasize about shoving off the back balcony. In 1995, I developed Bernina fever. Miser that I am, it was clear that I would need to buy a used model if I bought one at all. After a number of months of shopping, I located a used 1020 at a price I could almost afford. What a machine! No tension problems, no hours of frustration. I never realized how much time and energy a temperamental machine could take.

My Featherweight acquisition was reinforcement of my long-held belief that certain things are meant for you -- a sort of predestination-of-inanimate-objects theory. I had searched unsuccessfully for a Featherweight bargain for a while, until I dreamt one night of finding one in an unoccupied house! The next day in the local bargain paper was THE AD. Although I had to drive a long way, I was able to buy my one-owner, all attachments, complete original manual Featherweight for under $100. I even got a twenty-year-old can of oil.

Object predestination was again at work several weekends ago during a trip to Lexington, Kentucky. While visiting the fabulous Joseph Beth Bookstore there, I was inexplicably drawn to James Giordano's book "The Sewing Machine Guide" and uncharacteristically parted with more than $15 to purchase it. (It's a lot cheaper at the Planet Patchwork Bookstore!)

This book makes interesting reading, even if you're not in the market for a machine right now. In a very amusing style, Giordano discusses sewing personalities and how they relate to the type of machine you should look for. He provides charts and graphs which examine how your wants, needs, and deserves urges (as in "I deserve a machine that costs at least as much as his golf clubs") influence your machine buying. He also details how to test both new and old machines, how to inspect and clean them, and how to avoid the common pitfalls of machine purchases. Giordano explains strategies for dealing with dealers whether you're buying new or used, and how to recoup some of your loss if (heaven forbid) you spend megabucks only to discover you and your million dollar baby are incompatible.

Reading through it that night, I discovered that the old Singer Touch and Sew models are considered good used machine buys. Since my daughter-in-law has recently decided that hand sewing is getting impractical for making curtains for her house, I decided to keep my eyes open for a potential oldie but goodie. When my Saturday plans changed and I had several unexpected free hours, my daughter and I set out for the local mall. On our way, we passed a Salvation Army store and stopped. There were THREE Touch and Sews available!

After commandeering thread from my car, we began our test drive of the "prettiest" machine. Although I had to cannibalize one of my cathedral window squares and annoy the clerk for an extension cord, I was able to put the machine through its paces. The stitching was even, the bobbin wound without being removed from the case and the machine wasn't even dusty. Furthermore, the compact little sewing cabinet was in extremely nice condition. For $45, Mr. Machine was loaded into my van for the trip home.

My only worry now is that history is repeating itself. The Touch and Sew is about to become Christina's birthday present.

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