A recent conversation:
Me: "I just bought a Singer sewing machine."
My Sister: "Another one!"
Me: "Er...yes. But this one has a hand-crank. It has great control."
My Sister: "How many sewing machines have you got now?"
Me: "Counting broken ones?"
Me: "Counting mum's rusty one she made me store?"
Sister: "Yes, counting them all."
Barely a year ago I had zero sewing machines. How did I go from none to many? I'm glad you asked.
After I met and fell in love with Iron Beauty, a friend was moving away and wanted to sell her old Singer. I bought it sight unseen and learned something wonderful. You see, excuse my ignorance, but at that time I didn't realise Singer produced different models. They looked the same to me: ornate chrome face plate, curved body, black enamel.
But I had just bought a Singer 319, circa 1957. It didn't look standard. It looked awesome.
A little while later my mother-in-law wanted to give away her Singer 15. Built in 1937 it was pre-war! How could I say no?
I was happy, I was content. The 319 has a vast array of decorative stitches, but Iron Beauty remained my workhorse, having the most reliable
zigzag stitch. Then I broke her.
Of the 2 remaining, the Singer 15 could only do straight stitch (no reverse either), but nothing bothers her, she can handle the thickest material - unlike the 319. The downside to the 15 is she was originally a treadle-powered machine converted to a motor, so her starting
and stopping function lacks precision.
I started to think how good it would be if I could buy a hand-crank that I could attach to the Singer 15.
That's when a circa 1924 Singer 66 in working order with hand-crank came up for sale on Trade Me.
And I started to think, uh-oh, what have I become? Am I a collector? Or do I have a sickness?