This is what I stared at every "spare" moment Saturday. This is my trusty Singer, circa 1968. I had a stack of window treatment projects to finish this weekend. Most were hems of sheers -- there was some tweaking of other projects -- tedious and boring stuff.
I can only assume you have to buy a new construction something or other to actually walk into a home center and find ready-made window treatments that fit without the aid of the handy Singer. Over the course of 3 moves in 5 years I have hemmed, and hemmed and hemmed some more.
I am not a seamstress -- actually I think sewer is even too generous. I can run straight seams and even an occasional "zig zag". And they tell me the new machines are fabulous. They come with computer discs now and if you attach the button to the machine they will make a perfect sized button hole. And apparently everyone can embroider with them now that it has been made so easy.
But I won't part with my 1968 Singer. It is the machine of my childhood. It seemed like every night once all four of us were in bed my Mother would work on her projects. The whir of this very machine helped put me to sleep night after night. Until sometime on the 70's when she upgraded to something "fancier".
The 1968 model needed new gears 10 years ago, it survived our basement flood last month and the buttonhole attachment kit is actually long gone. The instruction booklet is likely to disintegrate soon I have used it so much. But I really can't replace it. It doesn't have a computer disc or an overlock mode or anything like that. But every time I load the bobbin and thread the needle I can see my Mother doing the very same thing.
Every time.