The Old Girl, part I

She’s a gem, my old girl.

My son and I found this beauty one afternoon while driving through our Central Oregon neighborhood looking for garage sales. I was seeking a small table for the kitchen telephone. Spotting a likely subject in a yard three blocks from our house, we stopped to take a look. Lo and behold, the table turned out to be more than we’d first thought.

“This was my great aunt’s,” the man of the house told us as he flipped the table top up and exposed the distinctive black and gold sewing machine encased within. “She passed away a few years back, and no one in the family sews, so we’re getting rid of it. It works, I think. At least it turns on.”

“I was really just looking for a table, but this is nice.”

“Do you sew?” He seemed eager for a sale.

“Yes, but I already have several machines. More than I can use, actually.” Lies, all lies. One can never have enough.

“Honey,” the man called back through the garage to his wife, “how much did we want for the sewing machine?”

“Fifteen dollars?” she called back.

My son looked me in the eye using his Jedi mind skills and not saying anything out loud. We are getting this now, he told me.

Well of course we were.

4 Comments Add yours

  1. Lisa says:

    Beautiful. They were works of art in and of themselves. My mother had one. It was a beauty.

  2. Karen says:

    That looks like a sibling of the one I learned to sew on…table and all! Lucky you.

  3. wriver says:

    your son is very persuasive… perhaps he can sell sewing machines?

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