Nostalgia Kills (Along with Everything Else)

Here are two of my three sewing machines: The Janome New Home 2212 that I have had for three years now (a Christmas present to myself while I was in school), and my little Singer Featherweight. (My third machine is the most elaborate of the three, a fancy-pants Kenmore that requires the user's manual just to load a bobbin.)

The Featherweight is home from the shop with a new brushless motor, new belt, new cord and plug (to replace one of the old, scary, cloth-wrapped cords and rickety plug which I could never have brought myself to plug into a wall socket because The Brain is convinced that it would mean sure death by electrocution), new foot pedal, and an LED light to replace the old bulb.

What a beauty, no? (She's hard to get a read on against the chaotic background of my sewing table, but the Singer silhouette is unmistakable.) The smell of this thing--machine oil and something far, far more intangible--taps instantly into the nostalgia center in The Brain.

Now I want to retrieve my great-grandmother's treadle machine (it's been languishing under a tarp in my aunt's yard for the past several years) and see if it can be rehabbed.

While doing some research on Featherweights and treadle machines, I read they were originally sold for between $150 and $200, which was the equivalent at the time of between $1800 and $2,000. That's a lot of cash for a family to lay out for a sewing machine, which I suppose speaks to the value of the sewing machine to the average woman. I imagine they would have saved a lot of time and money in the long run, versus sewing everything by hand and/or buying new clothes from a store. These days I think most use our sewing machines largely for pleasure--at least I do. And I wouldn't spend $1,500 - $2,00 for a sewing machine now (in fact, the Janome, brand new, cost less than $150) though I know from reading quilting blogs online that many women would and do spend that kind of money on sewing machines. (I'm far too cheap!)

In other news:

Our friend Paul has been in an assisted living facility for a few months now. Dave visits him more frequently than I do (work screws up my schedule enough that I can't often go visiting when Dave does). Last night we both went and picked up Judi and then picked up some Chinese food and brought it to the facility and had dinner with Paul. (He's only recently been eating solid food after having had a feeding tube placed while he was in the hospital last time and had trouble swallowing which led to a bout of pneumonia from aspirated food.)  We had a nice dinner together and then we brought Judi home and had a visit with this creature:

That's Dave with Buzz. Buzzy loves loves loves David. They are old friends the way I was old friends with Crunch.

(In the case of each dog, Judi and Paul brought the dogs home and then went off on long trips. While they were in Africa for a month, I stayed with then ten-month-old Crunch. While they were off for three weeks (I can't remember where; The Brain and I were in school then and nothing but school-based material stuck during those years), Dave stayed with Buzz. The bonding period was everything. Buzz likes me but he LOVES Dave. Loves him. Wants to climb into his arms and have Dave carry him around like a little babydoll.)

 

That is me with Crunch a million years ago, seems like. I loved that dog. Loved him. And he loved me. (This has turned into a nostalgia-driven post, somewhat unexpectedly.)

That's Judi with Buzzy. (She'd probably kill me if she knew I posted that pic of her here.) I'm glad she has Buzz now that Paul is elsewhere. Dogs are good company. (I say this knowing that I'll always have cats. Cats can be good company, too, but they're far more independent and less needy than dogs, which is more my speed.)