Brass Head

I agreed to meet a guy, cash in hand, in the parking lot at the VA in White River Junction, Vermont. He turned out to be a very craggy and somewhat sad-looking guy, a Viet Nam vet maybe, so I knew right away that I wasn't going to try to dicker him down. There are more important things than getting optimal price for some sewing machine.

Besides, I fell in love with it right away, in part because it made such an interesting contrast with my most recent class 15 clone, my (wife's) Husqvarna 12. The two are so similar, yet so very different: one is the product of a culture grounded in people quietly sewing in snowbound cabins (or so at least run our imagnings of Swedish life!), the other the product of a healing industrial culture committed to meeting the urgent and snazzy needs of a victorious America. There's pathos whichever side you take, and illusion, and paradox.

I was gonna crop out the woodstove, but with weather like this, I thought you might want to see that too

P.S. Oh, it's an International Precision Super Deluxe, for heaven's sake: that's a lot of adjectives. And I gave him $80 for it. Heh.


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