There she is in all her glory

Sometimes if you wish for something hard enough it Just Might Happen.

Case in point: my miraculous garage "sailing" feat: the purchase of a 1952 Singer 301 all metal, mint condition, cabinet sewing machine a few weekends ago during a Cape weekend.

My friend and I got up early on Saturday morning in search of bargains; circled classifieds and in hand mapping our route for the day. Her husband told us to not bring back too much junk, and I said, "the only thing I'm looking for is a vintage metal Singer Sewing Machine that still works." Ask, and ye shall receive.

At our second stop of the morning (out of ten!) my garage sale Partner In Crime (PIC) found me in a bedroom at an estate sale, poking through a box of vintage sewing notions. Just as I was forming the thought in my brain, "hmmm, if there are vintage sewing notions, there might be a machine around here somewhere," PIC found me and with a whisper tipped me off to a sewing machine I might want to look at in the other room.

I tried to restrain myself from running, but it was difficult. I saw the closed cabinet and knew right away what it was. My mother used to have an old Kenmore machine from the 70s in a cabinet so I knew just what to do. I flipped open the lid, pulled up the metal machine on its hinge, flipped the lip back down, found the knee pedal and the power source. It took a little bit of figuring out to determine that there was an extra electrical socket that needed to be connected but soon we had it all together and voila! The light clicked on, a test piece of fabric was inserted and the needle and feed dogs chugged chugged chugged with a satisfying rhythm.

I was speechless. Who wishes for a metal Singer Sewing machine and then one hour later finds one for the bargain price of $25?

I refused to leave the machine until I paid for it and carried it out of the home.

Even more special were the items I found stowed in the seat of the included bench. Another box of notions. The original owner's manual. All of the foot attachments. Two one-dollar bills (so it really was only $23!). Receipts for recent service appointments. The original paperwork for the purchase of the machine: a yellowed and fragile handwritten mortgage for $357.25. In 1952.

Mamacat and I serviced the machine on her visit this weekend, carefully oiling the machine and greasing the metal gears. Did I mention there isn't a speck of plastic or rubber in this machine? That it is all metal? It is awesome.

Dear Elanor: wherever you are, I hope you know that your machine will be cherished and put to good use. I hope I get to enjoy it for as many years as you did.