April 13, 2009

A Machine Not Sewing

Balboa Park, Tower at the Museum of Man, 2009.

Himself: Touched up the paint and put boxes away then just wanted to do nothing, so I let him. This made for an odd day for me, and a computer game day for him.

Herself: I just followed G’s lead yesterday instead of going out and doing things, so today is my odd and end day. Laundry, machine repair, work on the Rabbit Tail, groceries, that sort of odds.

Reading: Lord Darcy.

Balance: The rabbit. Yeah, he needs a name.

Caught my attention: The Weblog for the “White House Museum.org is The Elliptical Saloon. The news is full of new dog news, but this is the only place on the west coast you can find out about things like the bees at the White House.

The tension on my sewing machine is kaput.

I keep thinking it is something I did to it….perhaps by turning the tension knob. Nothing I did yesterday helped, so today I will look at the details carefully. I just hope it is something simple. Turn this, move that, and the machine works perfectly. That sort of simple repair.

I’ve finally got the top of the red quilt to a state I can tolerate it. The reds aren’t dead any more. I put together a nice little turquoise border of two toned dragon teeth….triangles. The machine thought about sewing things together, so I turned the tension knob a little. This worked for a few days. Then I had to do it again. This time, the adjustment only worked half a day.

I assure you, if I swift kick would help, I would have kicked my sewing machine. It didn’t.

Among the putterings of yesterday was the putting of my old journals up in the above-closet storage. It’s a “pull the truck out, pull out the ladder” routine, and while the ladder is out….I got my old machine out. It’s been down there waiting, turning its oil into varnish, for years. It’s waiting now at the bottom of the stairs.

For when I tried to adjust the tension, one more time, the thread on both sides of the fabrics danced to a different drummer. I took the machine apart and cleaned it, I oiled every corner, and wiped every bit dust free. When I started it up again, the drummers were still dancing the rumba when I wanted to tango.

It wasn’t my dance at all.

1 comment:

  1. Loved this little phrase: "the drummers were still dancing the rumba when I wanted to tango - not my dance at all". I've really been enjoying catching up after several days away. There's something about the voice in your posts lately...don't know what it is, unless it's what the English professors refer to as your "voice" coming through.


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George coming down Peter’s hall that’s lined with wood and artifacts from wonderful ocean liners of the past .             We ...