No worries, I keep adjusting tension, rethreading and all other tendernesses to get it working again. I may still bring it somewhere to be cleaned and oiled, but for now, it continues to spit it’s non-covid menace at me. By the Grace of God, I don’t seem to wish it ill or curse at it, I’m just merrily rolling along with only coffee in my system and Fleetwood Mac and Crowded House happily humming in my ears.
All of which reminds me that the very first time I recall my mother swearing was at her sewing machine. Total frustration made her face beet red and the shocking mutter of “S~*t!!” exited her sweet Irish Catholic lips. In the sixty three years I knew the woman, it was a rare thing!
I have to ask myself why I am not tempted to the same frenzy of foul language here and now? Well, I think to myself, I have the freedom of time. I have no deadline, also, no children, no husband, no meal to cook (bless you housemate D!), plus the aforementioned favorite tunes and coffee, making this project a pleasure.
It makes the regular performance of motherly deeds that Mom did for us all the more remarkable. As hard as life could be, and it was hard, she strove to make it bearable, even a pleasure. What a wonderful grace!