It’ long time since I have written, as usual. I always read about famous authors that hate writing but feel compelled to do so. Am I caught in that cliché’? It would seem my creative thoughts have paralyzed me; I have too many ideas and too much potential, too gifted. What a ridiculous thing to complain about. I have to laugh. My first sewing machine died. It is a 40 year old Bradley with zigzag and 22 decorative stitches. My MoM gave me the Bradley. The weight of it always felt real. I wish I could bottle its scent. When I was small I would lie under the dining table and feel comforted by the sound it would make. I was trying to make doll clothes when it began to give me trouble. Dan at Renton Sewing and Vacuum broke the news carefully. The cams are cracked and replacing them would be difficult and costly. He advised me to invest in a new machine. Joe at Esser’s Garage told me the same thing about my first car 22 years ago. I have a 53 year old 221 Singer featherweight. It is beige and gorgeous. But there is something about your first something that means everything. My brother gave me his machine. It’s a man’s machine, an Alcon. I call it Big AL and it’s incredibly heavy and meant for serious business. My Aunt Joan sent me her 86 year old 221 Singer featherweight; it’s worn, graceful and simply hums. MoM and I went to Sew Expo to shop for a new machine. Women expressed their condolences for the loss of the Bradley and offered suggestions. The models and options were overwhelming, but I had done my research and set my budget. We found a Brother 9500SQ, needle down, walking foot, 100 decorative stitches and most importantly purple trim. Yes, I said purple. Like a big grown up girl and presented my credit card, the saleswoman smiled and took my MoM’s instead. My Mother gave me another Brother. My Mother gave me sewing skills, fabric, tools and encouragement Does it sound like I am expert? I am not. I am puzzled by the sewing process and enamored with machines. Old machines have a history and purpose. I think my fascination with them feeds my search for my history and purpose, one stitch at a time.