I am both mesmerized and terrified of my sewing machine, which has been touched only once in my eight years of ownership. I’m mesmerized by it because I have always wanted to quilt, or throw together a cool throw pillow, or even just hem something. I’m terrified of it because I’m convinced that I will run a needle straight through my finger (hey, I watch “Project Runway”, I know that it’s not unheard of). But now that I’m in my thirties, maybe it’s time to face the fear. Since I’ve met one of my goals for 2012 (start a blog – check), I decided this week that I should get started on my second goal: learn how to sew.
My grandmother, mother, aunt – pretty much every older female in my life – knows how to sew, and does so beautifully. Somehow life got the way of me ever learning how, but I’ve always wanted to. When I was growing up, my mom would always sew my Halloween costume, and every Christmas I’d get a box full of gorgeous, hand-made Barbie clothes from my grandmother. It’s such a timeless, homey, uber-domestic art that I want to be a part of.
So. I delved into the bowels of the attic last week, and, after knocking over about fifty boxes of baby clothes, finally found the sewing machine. It was a birthday gift from my mom eight years ago when I first expressed an interest in learning how to sew – and moved to Atlanta three months later without touching it. Well, sewing machine, your time has come. Unfortunately, it’s in a bit of a sad state:
Hopefully a quick wipe down will fix ‘er right up.
And with it I found my handy owner’s manual and an Idiot’s Guide to Sewing:
And a box full of dust-encrusted sewing accoutrement (I’m terrible about sealing boxes):
Goal for this week: Clean Machine and Figure out how to Thread it and Learn Where the Bobbin Goes and what the Hell is a Bobbin Anyway.
Maybe next week I’ll tackle Not Sewing My Finger.