Beginnings

I find myself gravitating toward things that I grew up with, having a preference for stuff that my Mom or Dad had. I don't know if it is a comfort thing, but I certainly do enjoy using these old items, and when I find them, I practically squeal with delight!

Mom had a set of melamine splatterware mixing bowls. I clearly remember breaking one and not really understanding why she got so upset. I knew she had 2 more, so what was the big deal? As an adult, I look back on that day and wince, shaking my head at my own naivete. I know now that certain items have sentimental value to them, and that particular set of mixing bowls was given to my mom by her own mother and at the time I broke it, their relationship was strained, to say the least.

I have, over the years, found my own set of melamine splatterware bowls, though they don't match, and I use these every time I bake. Cookies, cake, bread... it's my favorite set of bowls and as much as I love my Pyrex bowls, the melamine bowls are the first ones I reach for. I would be devasted if one of my kids broke one, but there is no sentimental value attached to them, I just like using them.

I found this green sewing basket at the flea market last week. I gasped when I saw it. My mom had one just like it, only hers was pink and round. After a quick price check (oh please please please), I was delighted to see I could afford it! I snapped it up and if I had found nothing else that day, that would have been just fine with me.

I remember going through my mom's sewing basket when I was a kid. She still has it, I think, but I haven't seen it in so long-- 20 years at least. I would finger the loose buttons on the bottom and admire the pretty spools of thread, carefully open the cardboard packet of sharp needles and stare in awe at the row of pointy, shiny tips. I loved her tomato pin cushion with the strawberry and I'd take the pins out and make designs with them all around the tomato.

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.