I'm a grownup

In other words, I made it through my pre-admission testing last Wednesday without having a toddler meltdown.

Medical history, basic exam, blood pressure, EKG ... all normal except BP was a little elevated, probably due to my stressing about needles.

Or, as the nurse taking it said, "It could also have to do with that extra 15 pounds you're carrying."

Like I don't know. And I compared it to hers, and she said she had 20 on me, and we both started laughing.

The blood draw was remarkably painless. Which I knew it would be, I just can't look at needles without wanting to pass out. Interesting for someone who sews all the time and who has literally sewn THROUGH her finger twice with a sewing machine.

And speaking of, meet my new lovely. The hospital had a thrift store, and that was my reward for not having a tantrum. The machine wouldn't have happened except Mario pointed it out to me sitting under a table in a cute little olive green-and-gold suitcase.

It sews like a dream. I test drove it on my surgical instruction sheet, just to show it who was boss.

Last day of school

Potential new housemate

Tuesday was the last day of school, and also my last after-school sewing class of the semester.  I didn't really expect many students to show up since it was the last day, and also their fifth grade teacher was retiring and I'd heard something about a farewell party.

The director asked me to come in whether or not I had a class to look over some old sewing machines they'd found in a closet and were thinking of selling.  (These were the machines I'd tried using with my class initially, but they're older and idiosyncratic and cranky and just not what ten-year-olds want from a sewing machine).

When I got up to the third floor classroom where the machines were set up, it turned out that six of my twelve students were there too.  (Flattered that they chose me over their other teacher, but really, none of us were prepared for anything, so they ate water ice and watched a movie on one girl's phone while I futzed with the sewing machines).  They came over occasionally to see what I was doing, or to comment that the machine pictured above looked like an old car -- which it does, all it needs is fins and a little more chrome.

How to watch a movie.  

The turquoise and white Revere machine may be coming home with me.  My bargain with myself is that I have to Craigslist the two unremarkable table machines that live in my dining room, and which never get any use except as tables anyway.  The Revere weighs a ton but sews like a dream, and hey, it looks like a vintage car, so if I'm not sewing, I can just look at it, right?

The girls all left a little early -- they had a graduation party to attend -- but I enjoyed them while they lasted.  I'll be seeing four of them in August, when they're coming to my house for a week-long sewing camp (I must be mad).  Until then, my life will be blessedly child-free.

As far as the photo to the right, there were plenty of chairs in the room, they just decided not to use them.  There were two more girls sitting on the floor under the edge of the table, one of whom was holding the phone for the rest.

It's going to be very quiet without them on Tuesday afternoons, but I think I'll get used to it.

Never say never

Sewing machine only

I was always happy with just a straight sewing machine.  I didn't need a serger or any of these other fancy, non-essential doodads.  Nope, not me, never.  Not gonna happen.

The first crack was my sudden, burning need for a coverstitch.  Still didn't see the need for a serger, but I was really tired of trying to do a neat twin needle hem on knits.  So I got a coverstitch, and I liked it.

Long, long stretch where I used my regular machine and coverstitch, and then mostly just the machine because in the last two years I've probably only made two garments for myself.  So for craft show and Etsy sewing, I haven't needed the coverstitch but I've used the hell out of the sewing machine.

Then I got a call from a friend that her neighbor had died and his family was liquidating all his sewing supplies, including a Baby Lock serger with jet air threading.  It was free.  It was also mine, very quickly, and we got acquainted fast.

Why did no one ever tell me my life wouldn't be complete without a serger?

Machine embroidered doll faces

Recently I started selling cloth dolls at shows and online.  I was hand embroidering the faces, which was fine when I was only selling a few of them.  I like embroidery.  I find it relaxing -- or I did until I sold ten dolls at a one show and had another show the following weekend, with no stock left.  Then I had to embroider ten faces and construct the dolls too, in a week when I was scheduled to be temping at least three days.

I started thinking idly about embroidery machines.  I knew I'd use it -- for the dolls if nothing else -- but I wasn't sure how expensive they were, or what the learning curve was like.  I did some online research and quite a few people said that the Brother SE400 was a good basic machine if you weren't planning on doing large, elaborate designs.  That sounded good.

Amazon had it for $300.  Which also sounded good, but I wasn't convinced.  I waffled a little bit more, and then got an amazing email from my credit card company.  It reminded me that I had a lot of unused rewards points, which could be turned into an Amazon gift card.

Which could be turned into an embroidery machine.

Hand embroidered face

I love this machine.  I can turn out a half dozen doll faces in an afternoon, while I'm sitting next to it sewing something else.  Since it's a basic machine, I have to change thread colors (there are machines where you can pre-load up to ten colors, which makes me hyperventilate a little) but I can live with this.  Easily.

So if there's some new kind of machine out there and I make the blanket statement, "I don't need it," just remind me that things change.

P.S.  It's getting crowded in my workroom now with all these machines.  I need to reorganize soon.

Abundance

A week or two ago, I got a call from a friend.  She and I were in book club together for a few years, and now we mostly meet up at the thrift store on half price days.  (She's my kind of people).  She told told me that her next-door-neighbor had died recently and his niece and nephew were cleaning out his apartment.  "He was an artist," she confided.  "He made everything, with everything."  But what it finally turned into was, "Well, there's a sewing machine.  I'm not sure what kind, it's got spools sticking out all over it, maybe it's an embroidery machine?  Well, anyway, I told them you sew and they want to know if you want it."

I said it sounded like a serger, which I actually do not possess.  Never particularly wanted one, never learned to use one -- but also, according to policy, would never turn down one if offered.

I never, ever turn down donations.  Even if it's not something I can use, I know someone who can, and I never want to turn off the stream of donations.  Too much of what I make comes from that stream, and it's helped a lot of other folks out as well.

So I go around to get the machine, and they hand me a big Rubbermaid tub.  I thank them kindly and haul it home, only to unload and find out it's two sergers, an older Singer model and a relatively new Baby Lock Eclipse.  The Singer is complete (even to the manual), but the Baby Lock was missing its foot pedal and power cord.  I know I can source these, so it's not a big deal, but I did text my friend and mention the fact, and ask her to pass on to the niece and nephew that if they find it in the basement to let me know.

A few days later, I get a call from the nephew.  "We're at the apartment today," he says.  "If you want to come over and look for that cord, feel free.  You know what it looks like better than I do."

I text my friend to thank her for passing on the message and she sends a warning:  "Don't come home with anything!"

Shortly after, when I petted a passing bolt of fabric and said, "Pretty!" I understood what she meant.  If you like it, you take it, and but you have to take all its friends too.  I was driven home with 18 bolts of fabric, a bag of cut fabric and . . . another sewing machine, this time a recent Brother model.

The apartment was a treasure trove.  The late tenant was indeed an artist, and worked with everything from paint, clay, papier-mache, jewelry, rhinestones, taxidermy and who knows what else.  Every passing idea was given full rein, and every possible supply was purchased to support his habit.  It was glorious, and it looked like something out of a movie crossed with a particularly artsy episode of Hoarders.

As an example, the bathroom had a six foot long clawfoot bathtub.  Over the tub, mounted horizontally on the wall, was a series of narrow antique wall mirrors, the kind generally hung vertically between windows.  At the foot of the tub was a large angel sculpture, nearly lifesized, covered in rhinestones and faux ivy, and draped with -- what else? -- strands of twinkle lights.  The whole place was like that.

So now my downstairs hall looks like an explosion in a fabric store, and I actually had to fend off a donation of another six machines last week.  I did.  I said no.  Because they were vintage, and collectible, and the family could actually make money off them on Craigslist, and because where the hell would I put them in the meantime?

The recent Brother machine has made its way over to the place where I teach, along with a big blue Ikea bag of fabric.  The spring semester started recently  and the kids needed more stuff to work with.

And at the end, I'm really impressed that there's someone out there -- and who was so close by! -- who had even more sewing machines than I do.  It makes me feel a little less . . . hoarder-ish.

Though I have to admit, I'd like a big glittery angel looming over my tub.  Not sure what Mario, or the cats, would think about that.

Attic Find

I've owned my house for 14 years this month.  When I bought it, it had been used as a rooming house for at least 10 years, had the remnants of a packrat family before that, and some remains of the second owner from the 1930s.  The attic (and some of the basement) was filled to overflowing.

Every once in a while I tackle some of it, but there are still embarrassing pockets of other people's crap in the extremities of my house.

My roofer was over today putting a new window in the attic, so since I had to be up there anyway, I decided to organize another section.  And found treasure.

I knew there was a sewing machine up there, a 1960s metal one that I keep meaning to bring downstairs to investigate; if I ever get organized enough to do sewing lessons in my dining room, it will be great.

But this was something else.  Something more.  Something that made me say loud, unladylike things in front of my roofer, who nearly collapsed laughing at me.

This is a Singer Featherweight 221-1 Portable electric sewing machine, in her original carrying case, with all manuals and attachments.  She's so untouched she still smells like sewing machine oil, but according to Singer's website, her serial number means she's from 1951 (100th anniversary edition).  And still practically new in box.

This is a serious happy dance, folks.  I'm a bit of a sewing machine junkie on a good day, but I haven't found buried treasure in my own house before.

Today

was National Sewing Machine Day.

I was so busy organizing myself for Saturday's show that I never even turned on the machine.

How's that for contrary?  Give me a day honoring one of my very favorite things and I feel no compulsion whatever to do it.

Tomorrow is another day.  And I feel a project coming on.

Getting to Know You

New bears on Etsy.  

Sorry for the radio silence, but my new Brother and I have been getting acquainted.

Due to the heat, I've been staying out of the workroom during the later part of the day (west-facing windows let in so much heat that it can defeat the air conditioner when it's particularly hot).   This doesn't mean I haven't been sewing, just not as much and not as late.

Yesterday I broke open the box and read the manual.  Or most of it, anyway.  This is new for me, but I'm used to Singer and I figured Brother might have a few quirks that I should be warned about.

Which it does, but nothing too unusual.  The bobbin gets loaded in the opposite direction from the Singer.  The automatic needle threader actually works - or did, on the second try.  The needle stays down when the machine stops, unless I reset it to stay up.  Choice is good.  

The buttonhole function is good.  After a few test runs, I put buttonholes on all the pieces I'd had waiting, and they all came out fine.  I could love this machine just for that reason.  

But honestly, back to the manual.  I think if they left out all the "notes," "memos" and "cautions," it would be about 4 pages long.  I worked for lawyers for 30 years, I know people do stupid things and then sue because they got hurt doing stupid things, but on every single page there is at least one mention of "could cause injury." 

Yes, I know if I put my fingers too close to the needle, it could cause injury.  I've done it; it does.  And you know what?  I slapped a bandaid on that puppy and got back to sewing.  

I'll have something to show you soon, I think I'm going to take a glass of wine in there and do some more acquainting myself.  Brother needs to understand about wine and sewing.  And that it doesn't, as a rule, cause injury.

Memorial day

My new baby

is about more than cookouts.  It's a time for remembering those who have given their lives in service of this country so that the rest of us can stay safely at home, grousing about who is or isn't cooking the burgers.

And also sewing.

I am in no way not taking the day seriously when I say that this weekend, I am also remembering sewing machines past, as my current Singer is slowly and painfully grinding to a halt.  I've ordered her replacement and it will hopefully be here within the week: my new baby, Brother CS6000i.

I hope to get the Singer serviced enough so that she can be an adequate backup machine, but right now her buttonhole function has completely failed and I've got 3 toddler dresses standing by with buttonholes that need doing.  I put snaps on my last few dresses, as a design choice (and because I was refusing to admit that the Singer wasn't acting right). That has to stop.

Sewing today was working on a new series of "summer" bears.  Photos soon.  At least they don't need buttonholes.

Out with the Old, in with the New

Otherwise known as, "out with the broken, in with the hopefully longer-lasting and fully functioning."

Otherwise known as my freaking Singer is dying a horrible, loud, metallic yet squeaky, non-buttonhole forming death and I have headed her demise off at the pass and replaced her with a Brother CS6000i.

It'll be my first Brother machine.

I started out on my mom's Kenmore, affectionately known as the "gut buster" because you had to get its 20 plus all metal pounds from the upper reaches of the bedroom closet to even start sewing.  When I started sewing heavily in high school, it stayed set up on a trunk at the foot of my bed and I sat on the floor and sewed.  Hey, it worked - there was nowhere in my room for a table and I couldn't sew in the rest of the house.

When I moved out, I tried to take the Kenmore with me, on the logic that I was the only one who used it.  But it was not to be.  Mom visited my apartment and repo'd the machine, and I ended up with some crappy plastic job from a local chain store that lasted about 2 years.  The best thing about that machine was the store credit card - the interest was horrific, but at least I had credit.  And a sewing machine.

After that, there was a secondhand Necchi that I got from a friend of a friend.  That sewed like a dream until one evening greasy smoke started billowing from its innards.  Mr. Necchi left in a hurry.

That was followed by a Singer that lasted me at least 10 years; that was replaced by an old boyfriend (who was gratified that my kind of shiny gift objects were power tools or sewing machines) with another Singer.  That lasted until shortly after I bought my house; it was replaced by the predecessor to the currently deathbed machine.  When it kicked, I tried to have it repaired but the repair would have cost more than the machine was worth.

My sense of thrift is offended that it costs more to fix things than replace them, but I'm also no fool with my money.  If I can replace for less, or close to it, then I will.

The current Singer has lasted for about 2.5 years of daily sewing, sometimes for several hours a day, on any and every type of fabric.  It was about $129 new.

I think I got my money's worth, but it still irks me.  I also think it was having problems before this happened.  That just seemed to exacerbate it.

I read reviews on Patternreview; I looked at machines at SewVac Direct and Ken's Sewing; I asked my sewing friends on Facebook.  I eventually looked at Amazon.  The machine I'm getting had 28 reviews on PR, mostly all positive.  There were 1,612 reviews on Amazon, giving it 4.5 stars.

And despite wanting to buy the machine from SewVac or Ken's, I ended up going with Amazon because it was more than $30 cheaper.  Again, I'm no fool with my money, especially when there's less of it coming in.

Brother will be here soon.  I'm expecting great things, but really, I'll settle for no squeaks, no thumps, no metallic grinding noises and really good buttonholes.

Thread Ball

Why is it that when you're working flat out, doing everything right, doing everything you can to get as much done as possible, your machine decides to do something evil?

We've all had threadball, right?  That nasty snarl of bobbin thread on the underside of your garment, letting you know that you've been a lazy slob and not cleaned out or re-threaded or changed your needle recently?  The basic warning by the machine that if you take care of it, it might - depending on its mood - take care of you.

Has anyone ever gotten interior threadball before?  I was sewing along and all of a sudden I heard this weird, muffled crunching sound.  The machine didn't stop sewing, but it . . . lurched, kind of the sewing machine equivalent of a balky shopping cart wheel.  

I stopped.  I raised the needle, took the fabric out.  Bobbin thread seemed fine, stitches were holding, but when I looked at the machine itself, the hook thing (the one that goes up and down and that I can't remember the name of because I'm still traumatized) was crooked.  It was almost leaning up against the side of the case, instead of being straight in the middle.

I could have called my repair guy, who would have picked it up at 4:30, taken it to work the next day and then brought it back by this evening,  but I didn't want to wait that long.  I also didn't want to take a cab 15 blocks to a crappy neighborhood and drop it off on the chance he could finish it by dinnertime.  

So I got my handy screwdriver and opened up the front of the machine, a place I've never gone before.  Lo and behold, wrapped around some interior working that I have no name for, was a big ball of thread.  How it managed to do that, and yet not come unthreaded, is a complete and total freaking mystery.  I steeled myself, got my surgical implements (Kai embroidery snips and tweezers) and went to town.  After about 10 minutes of painstaking tweezing, I got all the thread.  Everything still seemed to move properly, but the hook was still a little sideways.  Holding my breath, I took hold of it and bent it back to where it should be.

And it works.  

I still think she needs a checkup, but now I can wait until the weekend.  

Whew.

Is it Wrong?

That the look of this machine makes me palpitate . . . just a little?

I've got a nice new(ish) Singer that runs well, does pretty much everything I ask of it.

I've got a Featherweight downstairs in the dining room that needs a going over but otherwise would probably do everything I asked of it.

So why does the combination of the two - nice new machine, loads of stitches, but that sleek black paint job and the fiddly gold bits - make me just a tiny bit dizzy?

For the curious, the acquisitive, here's a link to the Singer site.

Pick a color, any color



At the Porte de Vanves flea market, Paris

 

 I didn't know I wanted a turquoise sewing machine, but I do.

I want what I want

I spoke to Jack today. It wasn't good news.

He had given my Singer to another repairman who does "specialist" repairs, but I told him to pull the plug and bring it back when he picks up the loaner. I didn't want to spend more than the machine was worth - and it only cost me about $190 new. Sorry. I like what I like, but I'm not letting sentimentality rule my checking account.

So, say hello to . . . Singer 7426, winging its way to me for less than the price of the original. I want what I want when I want it. No nearby stores had anything comparable pricewise, featurewise, and which was compatible with all the bobbins and presser feet that I already had, and the online stores that did have anything were all saying 7-10 days delivery.

I checked Sewvacdirect. They had my exact model, 7426, factory reconditioned, and it'll be here on Friday. I love them.

There are better machines out there. I know. I have one. It also needs repairs. But this particular Singer (or at least its predecessor) turned itself inside out for me. And I'm loyal, when it doesn't cost me an arm and a leg.

Since this machine is at least partly intended for quilters, it comes with an extra long extension table which comes in handy for more than quilting. It sews leather, with no attitude. It has lots of decorative stitches, which I hardly ever use. It does really good one-step buttonholes, three varieties. And it will again.

Rest in peace, Singer 7426, it was nice knowing you. You gave good service, and I can only hope your successor does likewise.

So far, so good

Mr. White has settled in and is sewing along quite nicely, but he has his limitations. Like my invisible zipper foot (snap on) doesn't fit. So then neither will any of my other (snap on) feet. And I could just swap out the entire shank from my other machine . . . if I had my other machine.

I spoke to Jack today, and the Singer is still in pieces all over his table. He told me he hopes I'm a better mother to my cats than my machines; don't wait until it gets sick to have it checked out.

Apparently, using the machine every day might tire it out and cause it to want a Florida vacation. Go figure.

Come home soon, babies.

Clue

It's Mr. White, in the sewing room, with the pinking shears.

Meet my loaner machine, until the babies come home from the repair shop. He's a White 1523 "Blue Jeans Machine", he seems nice and sturdy and uncomplicated, and he's mine for another day or so. Apparently I did something complicated and unpleasant to the Singer.

Jack, my so charming repair man, suggested I might like a workhorse like this as my backup backup machine. I'm not acquainted enough yet to have an opinion.

Any of you out there have this machine, or a similar one, and want to give me a thumbs up (or down)?

Here it is

The BWOF 1/2008 #127 jacket on me, for those who need proof that I actually wear the stuff that I spend most of my free time sewing!

I wore it to work Monday, and I love it! I admit to spending a good part of my day petting the leather cuffs, and dropping things into my fully-functioning welt pockets.

I had a bad case of the unbearables, but it's beginning to wear off now.

Even the best case of unbearable can't last forever, not when you come cut out a bunch of projects for obligatory craft show sewing, and what does your ungrateful (tired?) wretch of a sewing machine do?

It wheezes, pulls briefly to the left like a balk supermarket shopping cart, and slows to a sludgy crawl. Grr. I open her up, pull out the bobbin case, blow a small cat worth of fluff and rubble fromthe inside, reassemble, try again, and about 3 inches later, the same thing happens.

Apparently I'm meant to take a break.

Whether I want one or not.

Ask me if I want a break.

I dare you.

Updates, Shopping and some Enabling

I know I've been MIA for a bit, but I think I'm back now.

Sometime last week, while working on the gray pinstriped ruffled skirt project, I decided that it would be fabulous if I could finish it - and the matching jacket - in time to enter the outfit in the Natural Fibers Contest for the American Sewing Expo in Novi in September. Entries were due by midnight on Sunday.

Of course, when I decided this, I hadn't forgotten we were going away for the weekend, but I believed that I could do all the necessary hand-sewing while riding in the car. Then all I would have to do on Sunday evening when we got home would be to make the buttonholes and sew on the buttons, get cleaned up and get pictures taken, uploaded and entered. Right.

I really thought I could hand sew the lining into the jacket in the car. Or that I'd have time at night after spending Saturday afternoon and evening with my upstate NY relatives, who I haven't seen in years. Somehow sitting around a bonfire, drinking and talking and watching shooting stars was more interesting.

Even the getting cleaned up and getting photos taken part wouldn't have worked. When reality hit, somewhere around 5:00 p.m. when we were sitting in traffic on the PA Turnpike, I gave up nicely and then didn't get around to finishing things until Thursday of this week. Why miss a deadline by 10 minutes?

Done now, still need photos taken.

Yesterday was half price day at the thrift store, my favorite time. I also hit the local flea market in the morning and got this great set of vintage pink and white sheets (that want to become a shirt using the contrasting pink edging for cuffs and collar) and 10 rolls of rayon seam binding. The seam binding was 50 cents a roll and the sheets were $1 per. Not bad.

At the thrift store, I accumulated two tshirts - one with a fabulous Peter Max print, the other an old Gloria Vanderbilt with a Philadelphia themed print. Both of these are going to be turned into different tshirts. Ones that fit me, first of all. The Max shirt is a size 4, which looks more like a size 0. Honestly, if it was a little more kid-friendly, I'd cut it up into the world's funkiest onesie for my pregnant friends.

At the bottom are more supplies for craft show bags - a size 4XL faux-suede long skirt, and two silk quilted jackets, both with minor damage. No qualms at all about cutting them up.

In the enabling department, at the back of the store are small appliances and random other goodies. Yesterday's goodies included a Singer Touch-n-Sew in pretty nice condition, for only $29. I didn't need this machine, but I wanted it. I wanted it to not be in the store, to be with someone who would appreciate its tank-like awesomeness. I called a friend, because I remembered she needed a backup machine. She still needed the machine, and was at my house in under 30 minutes, and went happily home with her new acquisition sitting snugly in the back seat.

Right now I'm sitting, listening to it rain, and feeling quite smug becuase (a) the tomatoes are getting watered, and not by me, and (b) it doesn't appear to be raining at all in the dining room, so maybe the roofer got all the leaks after all.

Nice to meet you, Karma!

I'm sure some of you remember my post about my aunt giving away her vintage sewing machines, and how I resisted, with all my strength, shaking her like a martini.

Apparently my efforts at self control paid off.

It's nice to know that karma's not always a bitch.

I got a call at the end of last week from a neighborhood friend (named Karen) who said that her friend (also named Karin) was cleaning out her house and was looking for a home for her aunt's old table model sewing machine.

I said yes before she'd finished the sentence. She laughed and said, "I said yes for you before she finished asking me."

Last night it moved from Karin's house to Karen's house in Karen's car.

It's pretty. It's a White Rotary table model, seafoam green, with lots of shiny dials and levers and a whole big plastic box full of feet. Why is it that these old machines remind me of cars? My tan-and-brown buttonholer looks like an old woody station wagon, and this is 1960s Pontiac if ever I've seen one.

There was a sewing box with it, and in addition to the box of feet, there was yet another buttonholer attachment (Kenmore this time, but I think they're interchangeable), some thread and some random interesting glittery buttons.

Oh, yeah, and the patterns.

Did I mention the patterns? She said she thought they were from the 40s, and my heart leaped, but they're from the 60s. Oh, well. Since they're all itty-tiny (31" bust on most of them), 60s styles are much easier to grade up to the size of us mortals with boobage.

I'll post photos of some of the patterns tomorrow; I just had to share the loot with you all and to let you know that if someone (like your aunt) shuts a window in your face, soemone else (like a friend) will open the door and hand you in a sewing machine.

Welcome to the family. You may be my sixth, but I love you all equally, and I can't wait to get acquainted with you and discover what your special talent is.

If anyone out there has a similar model, I'd love to hear about its strong/weak points and why you either love it or want to throw it off the roof.

It must be Love

So tonight I finally got some uninterrupted time in the workroom with my new baby.

After I took her apart, cleaned her out, dusted, oiled, re-threaded and figured out how the hell to wind the mutant bobbins (they're clear plastic, wide, thin and screw apart so you can actually lift the thread out in a roll; weird), I tried out the Singer buttonholer.

This baby has so earned its shipping and handling. I was thinking because it's such a nice old heavy machine, I'd try it for other things, but no, it's just going to be a dedicated buttonholer. I tried out the regular and keyhole buttonholes tonight, and they came out beautifully. You can sew several layers one on top of the other, so you end up with a very textured buttonhole that isn't lumpy at all.

We're going to spend a lot more time together this weekend; photos to follow.

New Toys and Good Customer Service

So I bought myself a new toy off Ebay last week. I've been reading blog posts and the thread on Patternreview about the old Singer professional buttonholers, and I wanted one. I read that you can get them to work with newer machines, but when I started looking at them on Ebay, I realized that most of the time the machines that they were made for weren't that expensive, and it would be good to just get a new (old) machine with the buttonholer and set it up on its own.

I found a Singer 640 Touch & Sew that cost the same as round trip train fare to New York to have buttonholes done at Jonathan's. It arrived yesterday. I took it out of the box at work, and I wanted to start playing with it right then - it looked like it had hardly ever been taken out for a drive. The buttonholer was still in its original box, all 20 buttonhole templates were with it, all the fashion discs for the embroidery stitches were present and accounted for, and it had 13 different presser feet and a dozen oddly-shaped plastic bobbins. It had the original instruction book for the machine and for the buttonholer. It had everything. Except one teeny-tiny missing piece - the buttonholer screw that attaches the buttonholer to the sewing machine.

Apparently the buttonholer was used once. Grrr.

Now I had emailed Singer back when I was thinking about just getting a buttonholer and seeing if I could make it work with my newer Singer. It took them 8 days to answer my email (the customer service line never picked up) and then they said they didn't deal with vintage Singer machines or questions about vintage Singer machines. Okay. They gave me the numbers for various regional Singer service centers that might be able to help.

I called the one in Syracuse this morning and explained my dilema - completely immaculate machine, missing one screw. "Oh," says the woman on the other end of the phone, "is it the buttonholer screw or the buttonholer cover screw?" I say it's the buttonholer screw. "No problem," she says, "we have a bunch of them. Give me your address and I'll pop it in the mail this afternoon."

No charge. No stress - at least not once I contacted the correct branch of Singer. So if you ever need anything for your machine, call the Syracuse service center at 800-321-7397. They're good people.