If you listen... you can hear them.

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01-15-2016, 06:05 PM

OurWorkbench

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Join Date: Mar 2015

Location: Denver, CO

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If you listen... you can hear them.

Non-Serious Literary Work

If you listen... you can hear them.

One must listen carefully and patiently, gradually learning to hear. It may begin like a slight rustling sound. You think you heard something, then think it was just your imagination. This may happen several times. Eventually it turns to brief sounds like whispering. With time and practice one can begin to hear them more and more clearly.

During quiet times in the house with all of the sewing machines or when alone with groups of them, I often think I hear something. I listen, as best I can, struggling to hear and trying to learn their sounds. While it's really not, I think of it as the machines "talking."

The mood of the resident group changes and what can be heard will vary from day to day. Sometimes they are silent. Occasionally they are excited about something, thereby creating a bit of a stir. Only now and then do they share glimpses of their widely varied experiences. Sadly, more than once I have heard the heartbreaking and melancholy sound of one of them crying.

Most of the machines are pretty well traumatized. Some of them quite badly. Not only have they lost their homes, but they've also lost their owners, some of whom had the machines for many, many years. Sewing machines, as you know, tend to be very loyal to one person or family.

Some of the machines here have prominent locations around the house, with a good view of the world around them and can see and hear easily what is going on. But some of them rarely see the light of day, being boxed up, put away in cases, or covered. To them the world is a dark place, with only muffled sounds. Some of them have had to find places in the nevermost corners of the basement, or even worse, the garage.

The ones with better locations keep the others apprised of what they see and what is going on. This is, in fact, largely what they talk about when nothing more interesting presents itself. They keep one another informed. They keep each other company. Sometimes though, on rare occasions, they can delight an interested listener with remarkably detailed stories about their histories.

Most of the machines come from single sewing machine homes, some of them spanning generations. One of the machines I believe came from a factory. Two of them were from schools. The two from schools were not always treated well and have horrendous stores to tell about what kids did to them. Kids many years ago, who are no longer living. One machine worked in a bridal shop for a time. One of the machines was used overseas to mend and repair army uniforms during World War II. They all have differing and diverse experiences. And as one learns to listen, it becomes easier to understand them.

Sewing machines are social creatures, as most people know. This can be demonstrated by putting as few as two of them together. Pretty soon there's a third one. And then a fourth. This tendency of displaced sewing machines to gather and socialize has been observed worldwide. But they socialize with themselves only as an alternative to their preferred company, that being of people who put them to work. That is, after all, their purpose.

The combined lifetimes of all the machines in our collection, laid out consecutively, would span backward to well before the time of the building of the Great pyramids. What a collection of sewing machine experience. And such great stories!

And thus, I have gotten to know many of them. Over the years, what I've learned by listening to them is really not surprising. Their needs are more simple than most people would suspect.

They like to be kept warm. They like to have their thread paths clear. Surprisingly though, they don't care so much about being spotlessly clean. And they don't care much about being polished and shiny. They tell me that's more of a people thing. The ones fortunate enough to have nice locations are glad they haven't been relegated to the darkness. The ones that have been, are understandably a bit lonely.

They like oil. They ALL like oil. Most of the machines wish that their presser feet were stamping up and down the way they did when they were young. The old black machines call it "cutting a rug." They want their needles to rise and fall with purpose. They like using up thread like a kid slurps up spaghetti. And they love to have their handwheels turning briskly, energetically and creatively.

Sewing machines want someone to sit with them and sew with them regularly. A sewing machine wants to feel useful and it wants to be used.

These are just a few of the things that I've learned from our diverse collection of vintage and antique sewing machines. Perhaps I can be their voice to those who have not yet learned to hear.

What they want most is simple. They want to be needed and used.

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