In my room, I could hear my Mom working on her antique Singer sewing machines. As she pedaled the click and clack of the needle made its way down the hall. Mother was always working on her old appliance. She was proud of her prized possession in a wooden cabinet with the four drawers. The drawers held all of her materials and needs. Her thimbles and threat set on the wooden pegs in bottom drawer. The table had wooden sashes that would fold up. The sashes gave her plenty of room to shift materials around. She would polish her cabinet to keep it clean and dust free.
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She had four boys that she wanted to dress in style. She would make corduroy shirts and pants for us to wear. We never went out of the house wearing anything but the best. When she was ambitious she would make blue jeans for all of us. She even made curtains with it.
Our neighbors were envious of Mom’s skill and of her vintage work. They would be amazed at the dresses she made for her friends. We were considered the best dressed family in our neighborhood. She made her husband’s suites and ties. Our shirts were both button up shirts and pull-over shirts.
Mom would not give up her old antique Singer sewing machines for the newer models with new attachments. She had learned how to work with very proficiently. She didn’t think the newer models would give her the quality of stitches as her antique Singer sewing machines did. She enjoyed the hum and click clack and other unique noises it made. It made sounds that one cannot forget. As I recount my memories of those sounds of used cell phones from her corner, I feel comfort and security of those childhood days.