During the pandemic, like so many people, I found myself crafting. I dug my grandmother’s Pfaff sewing machine out of the basement. It weighs about 25 lbs. I was certain it wouldn’t work after sitting for 30+ years. I wasn’t sure if I could even remember how to use it. But, Grandmother Knoop was nothing if not fastidious. Inside the case, the machine was pristine and included the original instruction booklet (which I have since misplaced), bobbins, oil, needles, and even light bulbs.
I oiled the machine according to the directions and then relearned how to insert and thread the needle. The whole time I thought about my grandmother and how she had taught me these things. I remembered the ugly 70s skirts and tops I made for myself. Even more vivid is the pink Ultrasuede suit she made for herself. She obsessed over the fabric choice (Ultrasuede was expensive), the pattern, the thread. In the end, she was disappointed. The suit never looked as she wanted, as she imagined it would. (It was flawless, BTW.) She was so hard on herself.
4 years after I recovered the machine, I’m still sewing and have even started a business.
My skills are primitive, though. I took a sewing class but soon reverted to my patched together, crooked lines, no pattern approach. I wonder if the resistance is about hedging the disappointment my grandmother felt. Perfection is elusive. Perhaps it’s easier to go the opposite direction? Certainly more fun. And since I find most of my starter pieces on the street, I don’t have to stress about the cost of Ultrasuede!
My girls have no interest in learning to sew. It can’t compete with the screens, unfortunately. Maybe later. Or maybe I’ll get to teach a grandchild and pass on Grandmother Knoop’s machine. (The Pfaff manual will be found!) I will never, ever be close to my grandmother’s skill but I thank God she taught me what she could.
