The machine has always been. As long as I can remember, the sewing machine was in the home of my parents. It stood vigil in a back bedroom for years and then was moved in my mother's in-home fabric shop. It had belonged to her mother and fell into my mother's possession after my grandmother's death. My mother always said she learned to sew on that old Singer, and learned she did, well enough to sew for the public for years. At my mother's death, the machine fell to me. Completely in tack with the accompanying metal fittings, the machine is a work of art, so much so that the old Singer deserves to be portrayed in a painting. This piece is almost finished, I think. This piece will be put aside for a few days, and I'll try to ignore it. When I return to it, I'll see with new eyes. Needed details will be more obvious and last minute enhancements will be addressed. Finished...
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