With some trepidation, I put the presser foot down, held the threads to the left with my left hand, while turning the wheel with my right hand. I gently pushed the pedal. With a slow soft whirling noise, the fabric started to feed through the sewing machine.
I guided the seam carefully, apprehensive about not keeping the correct margin. I held my breath as I turned the corners and as I carefully backstiched the seam. When the seam was finished, I slowly exhaled. A slight feeling of elation followed. I had done it.
At some point, my machine had gone on the fritz. It started skipping stitches and the tension was off. I had tried to fix it but I had been unable to notice either an improvement or a deterioration in the situation after fiddling around with the knobs. In the end, it had become apparent that I needed to take the whole machine apart, clean it, grease it and put it back together.
Over a period of time, I had done the necessary google search to ensure I knew what I was looking for, and I had bought the correct lubricant. I had taken the machine to bits, cleaned it and miraculously gotten it back together again. Even more amazingly, the machine had still worked once I had reassembled it. And the tension was once again correct.
Yet still, I did not dig out my shirt. I had a challenge for my sewing group that took priority. After hours of considerable consideration, I had chosen the pattern, cut out the fabric and assembled the skirt. As always, the skirt did not fit. However, I decided that when the group next met, they could help me to fit it. Then to my astonishment, the leader of the group decided to cancel the group. I had spent hours to create a garment that did not fit and I had no means of getting the necessary help to make it fit. I shall bypass the extreme mutterings that I uttered.
It was around this time that I got my knitting back out. I'm in the process of knitting an afghan. It doesn't have to fit and there is no chance of a mechanical failure. I began to understand why my mother had seemingly gone off sewing and done more knitting.
Then earlier this week, in a sudden burst of energy, I rearranged my apartment. I managed to squeeze in a sewing corner. A table where I could leave the machine and the work. An area where I would not have to clean it up but could leave it for when I had a spare moment to sew a seam. Tonight I pulled out my machine and set it up.
I got out my shirt and looked at it. I looked at the notes from my class. They were as clear as mud. A mild sense of panic started to form. I was so close to the end and I had no idea what I was to do next. Well, I did know what I was to do next but I didn't know what to do after that. I was tempted to put the shirt away again. I was scared that I wouldn't be able to hold the seam straight. I was worried that the machine would start acting up again. I felt that I wouldn't be able to do the precise sewing that was required. In short, I imagined that I would not be able to do it. Even worse, I knew that I wouldn't be able to do it.
I had a slight dilemma. I decided that the next seam was not that difficult and I could do it. I had to do it. So I sat down and I did the seam. That's all I did. I haven't trimmed it or pressed it. I haven't done another seam. However, I think that I can do the next seam. I'm not as scared anymore. The machine didn't skip or eat my fabric so I no longer need to worry about it.
I stopped after my one seam to celebrate my tiny victory. I decided to stop while I was ahead. Tomorrow, I'll do a little bit more and maybe the day after, I'll do another seam or two. In fact, some day, I might finish the entire thing.
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