The class finally ended. In the fifteen minutes I had to make it across campus to Non-Euclidean Geometry, with the professor who didn't believe in an attendance policy, I made my way to the dorm, changed clothes, and went for a run. Perfect day for a run. Me, thoughts of pinning and planning, and the English Beat in my cassette Walkman making our way. Not running to, not running from, just running, just getting the rush, just shaking off the boredom.Halfway into the journey, I cut through a side street, into this great old neighborhood, the kind of neighborhood where the trees lining the streets overarch. I love that way that looks in the late fall, the trees, just bare and stippling the sky. I'm looking at the sky as I nearly run into a pile of junk spilling forth from the driveway of the house beside me. Then I saw it. It looked like a sewing machine case, 50's era, hard sided, with the leather handle affixed to the top, the toggles on hold the base and the lid together at the sides. Naturally, I'm looking into this.I opened the case and died laughing. I reached for the hand wheel, it turned. The presser foot moved, the feed dogs barked, the manual, the box containing the attachments, all there. A Greist buttonholer with not just the four feet that came with it, but additional feet, including the "new" eyelet template. God looks after children and fools. I was nineteen. You, kind reader, may decide on that score.So, halfway through my run I'm now running-ish with a Morse "Lightweight" - 30 pounds with case, but the price you pay for all metal gears - sewing machine in it's case. I'm thinking about what fun this is going to be. The machine was nearly thrown in front of me. It was clearly meant to be. The space issue, hmm, that's tricky, but I'm not accepting the oppression of issues like that, not while I'm running-ish down the street carrying a sewing machine. I kept laughing. It was ridiculous. It was such an endorphin rush. People watching me at intersections, wondering what was in the box. I just laughed. It was all coming together in my head. This machine was perfect for me. It suited who I was: this 6'4" guy with shoulders as wide as a seat and half in coach class, running down the street with a sewing machine, thinking of the rugby jersey that needed the sleeve cap reattached and the pile of planning and pinning and the thrill of rescuing this Morse "Lightweight" - no one knew what to do with it, so they sent it out into the world. I knew what to do with it. I would make people wonder. People have a hard time fitting me into a category. I would name the machine Enigma. And Enigma would do his part to perpetuate the wonder. Enigma was vivid lilac PINK.
And the story doesn't end there. Enigma lives!
He is, though not with me. At the end of my senior year, as I was preparing to make the big move, I decided to pass him on to a great friend. She'd asked if I would teach her to sew and I'd been happy to oblige. She'd had the use of the machine, understood it's ethos, and had made the coolest boiled wool jacket in her new favorite color, Enigma Pink. It was meant to be.
He is, though not with me. At the end of my senior year, as I was preparing to make the big move, I decided to pass him on to a great friend. She'd asked if I would teach her to sew and I'd been happy to oblige. She'd had the use of the machine, understood it's ethos, and had made the coolest boiled wool jacket in her new favorite color, Enigma Pink. It was meant to be.
I hope the font color shows well, as this is the color I envision for Enigma. Still sewing away, I like to think on a marvelous leopard print faux fur jacket.
I don't know that either of the the photos I found are the "Lightweight" that James carried running-ishly thru the streets, but they ARE Pink and ARE Morse. And all together manly. (sorry, James, I just couldn't help that one). I had never heard of Morse before, but I think we can all agree that Enigma must be a very pretty machine and looks like he could be a real workhorse. And yes, James, it was meant to be. Thank you for sharing your story. Sew on....
If you enjoyed James' story, check out his blog: "Caught up in the Race" linked either on my blog list or at the top of this post.
Edited to change the font color. As cool and matchy as it was, it was really hard to read on my laptop screen. So it's a less vivid, less Enigmatic, more readable shade of pink
Cool, I'm off to read more. Uhh, I have a proposition. The Great Yard Sale and Junk Store Expedition Whereupon Two Old Friends Go Searching For Old Sewing Machines That Need Good Homes. 2011? After NYC, Paris, and Montreal, but perhaps before HongKong. We could maybe fit in some golf.... K
ReplyDeleteI have to more room before I can buy more machines! I'm currently maxed out. But I do have a soft spot for the oldies. They just touch my heart, so far not my wallet, though. I'm currently satifying that need my purchasing accessories for my 201. I was hoping to find some in my comb through the Abd and Kpt antique stores, but no luck.
ReplyDeleteAnd yeah, we DO need to work in some golf. Where's there a good place to Yard sale and golf? FLORDIA! All those old people dying off, selling machines, selling stashes and cool old clothes. And golf. Lots and lots of golf. Boca Raton, here we come!