A Singer

On Monday, I drove 180 miles up and down and up the Blue Ridge Mountains of Virginia.

On Tuesday, six movers packed my parents belongings, and took them away from the home they had known for the last 27 years.

That afternoon, I too drove away, for another 180 mile trip, this time away from the Blue Ridge.

The next morning, three of the six moving guys arrived on my front porch to deliver 14 wall hangings, 18 boxes, my Mum’s rocking chair, her antique leaf side table, my Grandmother’s sewing table and a hope chest filled with my parents’ personal keepsakes.

In doing so, those three gentlemen closed a milestone for me and my brothers. And, in doing so, by their professionalism and friendly personalities, they made the entire experience calm and okay.

After the moving was done, and around my twelfth attempt at feng shui’ing my stuff with these new arrivals, I noticed the sewing table had hinges on its top.

So I flipped the desk lid up and, much to my surprise, discovered a real-life old-school sewing machine attached inside:

And though super heavy, it’s well connected to the table, and very easy to pull out and return back.

Now, I am the furthest person from ever being able to do anything with a needle pulling thread, but I absolutely can appreciate the mechanics and craftsmanship of this gem.

Not to mention what it must have meant to my Grandmother, a proper seamstress in her own right, who made my Mum and Aunt’s clothes by hand.

This is just one of many dresses my Grandmother made for my Mum, who is posing here aged 13:

Stumbling upon this vintage sewing machine makes me smile.

Because I always thought that that table was just where my Grandmother sat to sew. Not that, underneath, it also housed her prized Singer, a companion tool that saw her promote her two devotions: Her dressmaking talent and her daughters.

My Mum often spoke about her mother’s sewing skills, and the beautiful clothes she wore growing up. And when she did, it was with a combination of pride, awe and thankfulness.

On moving day, I hadn’t planned on taking that sewing table. I’m glad my brother Fred convinced me I should.

What a lovely sentimental find, on my first night of inherited history.

Happy Saturday.

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