Carol Kanter

Grandma sewed on her Singer with a treadle.  I liked to watch her.  When I was small, she made some clothes for me and a whole wardrobe for the large, now-antique china doll she gave me, who had been given her and whose eyes opened and shut as she sat up or lay down. 

The summer before 8th grade, I wanted to learn to sew.  Mom bought me a Singer—electric, with no treadle—and I took a sewing class, learning to use my machine and follow patterns. 

When first married, we lived in a six-room student apartment for which I chose different fabrics and whipped up six sets of curtains, no patterns needed.  Later, using patterns, I sewed two  maternity jumpers for my expanding belly.  But these required no proper fit; they just had to be roomy.

Then when our daughters Jodi and Wendy were 5 and 3, my cousin asked if they could be flower girls in her winter wedding.  Her bridesmaid gowns would be pink with burgundy trim.  I chose a pattern, bought beautiful pink velvet fabric, and burgundy ribbon.  I remember feeling very nervous as I made the first cuts in that pristine and rather expensive fabric.

Now whenever I occasionally take out my electric Singer to use for some little project or other, I think of Grandma pumping her treadle and know she’d approve.  Because, no matter what, she always approved.