Years ago, a colleague gave me his mother’s old sewing machine. Dusty, a little battered, and long hidden in his attic, it finally came my way the day I casually mentioned that having one would be nice. I can’t say I ever used it for anything “big” – I’ve always been more about fixing than creating.
Over the years, though, it became my go-to for patching the kid’s jeans. Zillions of patches. The machine was reliable, eager, humming along as it stitched whatever I needed – straight stitches, zig-zags, you name it. Sure, I occasionally broke a needle, but that was the extent of the drama. No serious breakdowns.
Still, we never really bonded. Maybe it was the weight – it’s a beast. Dragging it out of the basement, carrying it into the kitchen, setting it up on the table… I hated every step. So naturally, I procrastinated, letting the pile of jeans grow until, inevitably, the kid had nothing left to wear. By that time, of course, he’d grown, and all those freshly patched jeans were suddenly too short.
So why am I telling you this? Because today I finally decided it was time to find a new home for my 1950s Ideal Zick-Zack Deluxe. I listed it on eBay for free, hoping someone out there would convince me they’d be the perfect new owner. Within an hour or two, about 20 people responded.
My gut led me to Ritva – a young mother of two, devoted to needlework (at least that’s what she said). I loved her emails, the way she wrote, and I have to admit, I was curious about someone named Ritva. Isn’t that a beautiful name? I’d never heard it before.
To make a long story short: an hour ago, Ritva came by. She seemed to really adore the machine, its accessories, and even the suitcase it came with. It was love at first sight. And when she started praising all the advantages of an old machine over the newer “plastic” ones, I couldn’t help feeling a tiny pang of regret for letting it go.
Have a wonderful new life, Ideal Zick-Zack Deluxe, and thank you for being part of our family for the last 25 years. I promise I’ll think of you every time the kid rips his pants.
