The month after my first child was born, I got it in my head that I needed a new hobby. It would need to be something I could do while the baby napped, an event I imagined would happen so regularly and in such length that I would need a meaty hobby to fill my vast spare time. So, I bought a sewing machine. I planned to make marvelous quilts and assorted items for my home, so I splurged on a glorious German sewing machine.
The truth of young children allowed years of dust to gather on the machine, but I've sewn and quilted periodically over the years. Since launching a farmers' market business, the machine chugs along nearly every day....until now. In one week, the fuse has blown on a circuit board the company no longer makes, and the bobbin hook has failed completely. Somehow, my geeky husband replaced the fuse (after taking this colorful reference photo of the guts of the sewing machine), and the hook was swapped out. The lady at Sew Sassy who replaced the damaged bobbin hook advised me to start researching a replacement machine.
I don't want a replacement. I want my regular machine; I know how it works; I know how it sounds. My fingers find the function buttons without my eyes needing to look for them. I am experiencing the hobby version of stages of grief over the impending loss of my best tool and toy, and I don't like it. The whole process of frustration and denial and grief reminds me why we don't have real pets. My sewing machine has been my pet, and it will be some time before a replacement feels as comforting.
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