14.10.09

A 21st birthday present.

In 1963.

My mother's sewing machine.

Carted across borders, across continents, across the hemisphere - more than once.

As a child I learnt to sew on it

My sister in law learnt to sew on it.

It bears the scars of years of use.

Now it is mine.

If it could talk - it would tell of tales of making clothes and curtains, of costumes for children, of making tents and coats for dogs.
 It would reminisce about making secret gifts in Rhodesia, now Zimbabwe, of crafting with a teenager in South Africa in an attempt to make ra-ra skirts and shift dresses.
I am sure it would regale with laughter the samhain costumes it has made in the past and the samhain costumes it is making now.

It isn't pretty and it isn't easy to carry - despite its portable aspirations.

But it is mine.