analog me

A Confession

For years, my sewing machine was a 1960's Brother chunk of steel that I found in an alley. It always sort of reminded me of a car with all that chrome, the two-tone paint job and those clever knobs for length and width. Not a fancy car, but something very solid, with 4 doors, a big bench seat in front and a straight 6 engine.

A Brother Sewing Machine !

We made many things together, Vogue designer dresses, suit jackets and then maternity clothes, baby outfits, boy pants. It was a simple, uncomplicated relationship  Sometimes I oiled the machine, and it sewed whenever I wanted. I never serviced it, although I did burn out a motor and had to replace the foot control. Then, gradually, I began to notice things I had been blind to. My knit clothes had ripply seams, the foot pedal was "twitchy." One day zig-zag was not enough for me. And sometimes I would  daydream about a free arm.

It seemed to me that if I had a better machine, I could be a better seamstress. Then one day I walked in a sewing machine shop and saw this.

The Viking 6010.

And I knew it would be mine.

If the Brother machine was a like a Ford Fairlane this was

A Volvo P1800 !

My eldest cousin had one of these 6000 series sewing machines when I was a little girl, and I remember staring wistfully at its perfection. I was so short that when I stood in front of it, those Colormatic schematics glowed right at my eye-level. So I was thrilled that I could finally have one of my own (reconditioned) for an affordable 200.00 !

Well, whatever I had dished out, that Brother had taken, but the Viking, I was told out, was a little more sensitive. And what it particularly hates is neglect. If you don't use these machines regularly, you have to at least take them out, whisper some kind words and "exercise" all their knobs. If you don't, they sulk and eventually freeze up.

Well I might have over-done it, because awhile ago, I noticed my machine was losing its pep. I took it to several techs, but they didn't notice what I could see: slow starts, stuttering, general foot dragging and even a little bit of a whine. I tried all kinds of oils, massaging it into creaking joints, and that helped--for awhile.

Then I got desperate. I felt bad, but I looked for a replacement. I called it a "back-up," but I suspected the Viking was due for retirement.  Yet, I couldn't find another one. I had a short fling with a new Pfaff, but it ended in tears. I decided I needed something old--perhaps another European. Then I became promiscuous. I trolled chat rooms and scrolled Craig's List, thrift stores--even Ebay. I admit, I was powerless: I had caught the vintage sewing machine bug. I had to try them all ! Through Criag's List I pursued serious encounters with an Elna and another Viking. I was so ashamed that I didn't even share it with you. (Just think of all the blog posts missed!) Only my family saw the signs of addiction.

At a thrift store I found a sibling of my Viking (the 3020) for 12.00 no less!. It was stuck in reverse, and the TV interference capacitor burned out while I was working on it so it got stuck in full throttle, but I brought it back to life.

Then, finally, last weekend I decided I had had enough of all the fooling around. I just wanted to sew with my beloved. I took the covers off both the Viking machines and my husband helped me diagnose a very simple problem. I had worn the carbon brushes that rub against the motor's commutator down to nubbins. I swapped them out with the brushes from the thrift store machine.

You Too Could be a Sewing Machine Repair Person !

I also took the pristine end panel and some other random bits. We put it all back together, plugged it in and. . . it was true love all over again. For just 12.00 and a little elbow-grease, I fixed what those techs didn't even diagnose.

Now I have to figure out what I am going to do with those back-ups. I do have some serious crushes on some of them.

So, do any of you have a machine you love above all others, or maybe a distant unrequited crush (for a Bernina perhaps?), or are you just in a steady reliable relationship? Maybe there was a first love that no new machine can ever live up to? Do you have a back up? A parts machine ? Please tell all.

Oh Yeah ? I am all that !

Louise over at A View Into My World tagged me for the exciting new blog award "I Am All That." Also known by its handy acronym IAAT.) 

If you have been reading here for awhile you know I fear and dread these awards--and yet continue to play along, because I still want to be thought of one of those kids who "plays well with others." So I was vastly entertained to read Bean Girl's reasoning for starting this meme:

"After the many trials and tribulations of being awarded and awarding memes, I suddenly came to a conclusion.  I'm going to start my own award.

"You heard me.  These things have to start somewhere, right?  Why not me?  And I mean, I figure I can operate under the time-honored tradition of believing that what is highly annoying in others is totally fabulous in oneself.  Ergo, another meme with which to blatantly promote oneself whilst simultaneously irritating the crap out of everyone else.  Awesomeness."

So here goes Five questions: 

1) What size shoe do you wear?  If you wear a size 7, can I borrow your shoes?

I wear an 8.5/39. Sure you can try my shoes, but I'm guessing my jury-rigged attempts at home podiatry will probably foil you attempts to wear them.  

2) 30's or 60's?

For movies: the 30's, hand's down. Music: it's a tie. Fashion: 60's although I love the idea of the 30s. Life? I think the 30s might be fascinating yet miserable. (That's probably why the movies were so great.) So I'll go with the 60s.

3)  Have you ever kissed someone you shouldn't have?

It always seems to be the case at some point. Finally, I married him.

4) Have you ever been poisoned?  Was it by the girlfriend of the person you kissed??  That is awesomely "Knot's Landing". 

Nothing so exciting: A self-inflicted bad tempeh trip. 

5) Who's on your "Celebrity Free Pass" list (top 5)? 

Actually, for me, it would be firefighters. I just have a thing about them. In college I couldn't find housing one year and had the chance to share a house with FIVE of them. I had the sense to stay the hell out of there.

So now I bestow this award on:

Jessica at A Yen For Craft

Debbie at Minado's House

Rachel at Orange and Green

Becky at The Snee

 

Another Lydia

It started last month when I realized I need more basics, and I'm still sewing knit shirts. In fact, I am still sewing the same pattern. I think I have made about 10 versions of the Lydia now. Anyway, I loved the bird pajama top so much I decided to make something like it to wear during the day.

I got this pattern off the Burda site back when it was free and have hacked the pattern so many times--it's just the download that keeps on giving. This time, I raised the center neckline by 2.75 inches and widened the neckline by 2", made a new facing to match and shortened the sleeves to 3/4 length. (I took pictures of the whole process it you are interested.) Must say, I love this style.

  

(Working on my attitude with the self-timer.)

I'm also getting along much better with my serger. I only took me about 30 minutes to change the thread color! But, I am also developing serger envy, because mine doesn't have a cover stitch for hems, and knit hems have always been my nemesis. They are usually too stretched and I get skipped stitches. To solve the skipped stitch problem, I could paint the hem with a stabilizer or use tissue paper, but I find these solutions messy and annoying. This time around I made a mock-overlock hem by first serging the bottom so that the edge was stabilized by all that thread, turning it to the wrong side, and then topstitching right over the middle of serged edge with a twin stretch needle. Best hem yet, but still not perfect.

But, my biggest problem remains: I have such a hard time predicting how knit fabrics are going to behave. When I made the cowls with this pattern I had to narrow the shirt by almost 4 inches because the super drapey bamboo wanted to expand. 

For this shirt I used a very high quality organic cotton/lycra knit. Even though it is pretty thin and stretchy it has such substance and elastic might, that it really is too small. (You can see evidence of this is the wrinkles under my armpit.) I have enough fabric to make another, but that seems tiresome.

In this picture you see another problem. When I topstitched the facing, the inside got torqued. After ripping and redoing the back three times this was as good as it got. I guess I should have used a walking foot. Any other hints ? Should the facing be a smidge smaller than the body?

So, I love this top, and yet I look at the details and wish I had more control over the details. Well, what's new? Still, I am accepting any and all tips for the next version. . . 

Does Fashion Matter ? Yet another installment in the quest for an answer

A few days back I took my youngest son and some of his friends to Mickey's Diner in St.Paul. It's one of those old diners built like a train car where you sit on stools at the counter soaking up grease smells as the cook fries your food right there. It's also the kind of place where anyone might sit down next to you, from a local big-wig, to a homeless person, to an aspiring novelist.

(Mmmmm, Smell the grease !)

Well, the lady who sat next to me appeared to be from somewhere pretty far from the big-wig end of the continuum. I said hi and the first thing she said was, "I sure do like the neckline on your top." In Minnesota it's social suicide to skip from hi, right over the weather and straight to a non-meteorological observation--especially positive acknowledgement of clothing--so I knew I might be in for an interesting conversation. 

I  looked down and smiled to see that I had on my "nightclub singer shirt" the magenta cowl neck anthropologie knock-off. I felt so happy that someone noticed ! And although this woman was dressed in a multitude of practical layers, I recognized that she was a woman of discernment. Her fleece hat exactly matched the blue of her eyes. And she had said she liked the "neckline" of the top--the detail that defines that top.

So we talked a bit about clothes (well, she did most of it). She mentioned some specific outfits she had seen people wearing on the street, like a blue polka-dot dress with a white collar on a pretty young woman. She mentioned the quality of the fabrics (velvet vs. wool tweed) used for coats at Macy's, and the importance of finding things in the right color, or with that little touch that makes it special. And then how disappointing it is when that shirt in the favorite color wears out. 

She also casually mentioned sleeping under a tree, so I gathered that practicality of clothing was more central to her wardrobe concerns than their beauty. And from there we moved on to adaptability: how people have to adapt to living in northern Minnesota, and the animals there adapt to extreme weather, and how it might take years of simple observation for humans to understand those complexities. On to Jane Goodall (of course!) and then it was time for me to go and her to finish savoring her bowl of chili and cup of coffee.

I usually think of clothes as a somewhat selfish means of pleasing myself. Thank you, Nameless Lady, I guess I need to rethink that.

My son's photo of his friends and I leaving Mickey's-- the only other picture with me in it was a shot of my butt on a stool--thanks child of mine.

 

Spring

In the yard.

Walking (and crawling) by the river.

 

Exploring a new spot I have only ever seen from above.

   

It was a long winter.

There was snow on the ground when my brother was in his accident.  He died in Seattle while water drops slid down the hospital window. Then there was a huge snow storm here. When I made it back to Minneapolis and rode the taxi from the airport to my house, my neighborhood was so buried in the three feet of snow, it was almost unrecognizable to me. Everything felt unfamiliar, muffled, whitened out. Edges were all blurred; the landscape had lost it's definition. It seemed the perfect place for me.

The melt always unsettles me. But this week when I heard that water splashing into the stream, saw those spore capsules glowing on the moss, and smelled the damp ground, I thought, "I think I'm ready."