My Grandmother's Singer Sewing Machine

It's a new year, and I need to come clean about something.  I have a love-hate relationship with sewing.  You may be asking yourself why on earth did I call my blog paperbakeSEW if my feelings towards sewing are so extreme.  Well, when I'm in the sewing zone and everything is coming together as planned, I really love it.  However, there are times when the sewing machine keeps jamming, straight lines become askew, or time spent unpicking exceeds time spent sewing. At these moments, I feel like scrunching my work up in a ball and throwing it in a corner.  I know I am not alone in this. 

I'll admit, I can be a little impatient, and I do get a little fixated on finishing something at all costs, but sometimes the impatience stems from frustration with not knowing what I'm doing.  You see, I was rather a late-starter.  I didn't do sewing at school and I wasn't raised in a sewing friendly environment.  My Mum was a knitter, and sewing was something she had to do.  I also had an irrational fear of getting my finger pierced by a sewing needle, which I have only overcome in recent years.  You will understand why when I show you the machine I learned to sew on.   And when I say, learned to sew, I mean sewing two bits of scrap fabric together.... possibly twice.

This is my Grandmother's sewing machine:

This is the scary needle, which seemed huge to me as a child: 

My Grandmother bought this machine in 1930 when she got married as she thought that all married women should have a sewing machine.  It was really expensive at the time, and given my grandparents had waited five years to get married because of the Depression and had virtually no money when they finally did, it was a rather extravagant purchase.  It sat unused for most of the time, as my Grandmother preferred to crochet.

My mother was given the machine when she got married.  For most of the time, it also sat unused and, when it did come out to make the occasional school uniform or pair of shorts, it was a big deal.  Mum would "do battle", while I sat on the sidelines watching her work up speed on the treadle and move fabric under the scary needle. The machine would make a hell of a noise when Mum was in top gear, and I think the speed and the noise contributed to my fear of getting my fingers caught.

I only overcame my fear after I did some machine quilting classes.  I went to a craft show where there was a quilt exhibition and thought, I want to learn how to make those.  So, with the help of a very patient teacher and a few deep breaths, I managed to sew two pieces of fabric together... in a straight line...which eventually turned into a sampler quilt.  After that, I had no fear, but I do have a habit of choosing projects above my skill level, and I get stuck (which my Pfaff senses - it's like a photocopier that way) and this leads to frustration and a pile of unfinished projects.

I have always loved my Grandmother's sewing machine as a piece of furniture.  It has so many decorative elements - the wood carving on the drawers and sides, the painted decoration on the machine, the wrought iron, and the engraved metal plates - all of which serve no purpose other than to make the machine a nice piece of furniture.

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It now takes pride of place in my family room, where I continue the family tradition of non-sewing use.  Instead, it serves as a table for my phone, flowers and various knick knacks.  And when I'm having a frustrating sewing day, I can look at it and take comfort from knowing I come from a line of non-sewers, and that I no longer have an irrational fear of fast-moving sewing needles.

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