The Sewing Machine

When I was young, my mother was "of course," a stay at home mother and home maker. Being the mother of 4 girls, two of whom were twins, was a very busy and thankless job. One of the many things my mother did, which we never appreciated until now, was to sew our clothes. My twin and I had to have matching outfits, and my older sisters had to coordinate with the "twins," clothes. Especially for special occasions like "Mother's Day." How ironic that she had tons of work to do to celebrate her own celebration. My mother had a 1958 black Singer sewing machine. She could sew the world brand new clothes on that thing! We weren't allowed to bother her while she sewed. I remember though, the sound of that old sewing machine. The whir of the motor and the clack of the pressure foot meant Mom was sewing. Periodically she'd have us stand still while she fitted and pinned. Most of the time, though, you could just hear the hum of that machine reverberate through the house. I think my mother liked to sew. She always enjoyed creating things. When my mother sewed, the world was a peace. The house grew calm. We kids gathered around her with books to read or color in. I remember being sprawled out on the floor beside her, reading the "Childcraft," nursery rhyme book. That book was good for a whole day of reading, so as long as she sewed, I was content to lie there beside her.

To this day, the sound of a sewing machine brings peace to my soul. Perhaps they should put that sound in those sleep sound machines. I wrote about that sound on Facebook. A couple of people wrote that their hearts respond like mine. Most of the women, however, wrote that they feel frustration and failure when they hear that motor hum. For them, a sewing machine reminds them of their not quite measuring up to the maternal standard of our mothers. In our generation, every mother sewed. Every mother made matching clothes for the children on holidays. All the children hated the clothes! It was a game we played with each other, a dance of responsibilities and declarations of independence. "Look what I made for you!" "I want 'store-bought,' clothes!" These two declarations rang out in almost every middle class home on the cul-de-sac the week before a holiday.

And yet, the soft purr of the sewing machine floods me with sweet memories... when Mom happily took care of our world. There was nothing to fear. Peace reigned in our lives... at least for a few hours.