This must have been around the time I started to fall in love with sewing. My sister was the crafty one, teaching herself to crochet and do counted cross stitch, but I was the sewing one. When I was 16, my mom gave me her old sewing machine (above). Her mom gave it to her when she was 16. It's a beautiful machine, heavy, gray and pink. I loved it. Still do, but it is not working now, and I've had to replace it with a newer one. The new one doesn't compare, though, and after a few years, it is already in need of repair. I'd like to fix my old one and use it again. It has a musty smell that I've never been able to get rid of, and every time I open the case, the smell takes me back to when I was 16. It also has that old electrical smell and as weird as it sounds, I love that smell.
I found this old one at the dump a few years ago and it is made by the same company as my lovely pink and gray one. I thought I might be able to use it for parts, though it is an older model. I need to find a sewing machine repair man that would be familiar with an older machine. Might get lucky in these parts, living here, where people hold on to things past.
My mom asked me once why I liked old things, and thinking about it now, it's because I grew up with them. They are intwined with my memories, and when I see it, feel it, touch it, smell it, it takes me back again.