featherweight love
Sunday 16 December 2007 | someone left a cookie
Elle est arrivé, gleaming black and smelling deliciously musty, like Grandma’s stash closets, like Maine, where she has lived her whole life. I’m still a little scared by all the metal moving parts, but I’ll start with remembering how to thread its needle, wind its bobbin. The Brujo thoughtfully downloaded for me an age-appropriate instruction manual—the Featherweight is from 1948, so I mean appropriate to its age, not (necessarily) mine.
I cut out some silk (upcycled navy boxers!) and cotton (muted greys and browns and blues) to make a little cloth zipper pouch for Mandarin’s mum, in appreciation. Then I got lost in just staring at Fevvers’ reflective onyx surfaces.
Pyewacket, however, does not seem to share my reverence for the Featherweight. Nor is she impressed by its myriad, inscrutable attachments. Though she did show some fleeting interest in the moldy-smelling New England packaging.
And to give you a sense of scale—of how light! how portable! is our new little friend—why, here, let this crafty maiden show you:
Tomorrow I’ll link this post through to some of the more elegant Featherweight pages on teh interwebs; but for now, just one more money shot for your delectation (or mystification, if you can’t understand why the Un has been seized with nestiness on the eve of her 39th birthday).
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Sewing Pr0n! I love it. I groaned when the first picture came up, and my partner asked “what?”, looked over my shoulder and went “Oh, sewing” and walked away. Although he did buy me my copy of Old-Time Tools and Toys of Needlework, so he does get my obsessions.