Predetermination cabinetry

It had been a week since I’d worked on a sewing machine and I was straightening and organizing the garage when Sis poked her head in the door.

“You busy?”

“Nope.”

“Let’s go for a ride.”

Twenty minutes later and half way across Pittsburgh, we pulled into a driveway. 

“Sewing machine?” I asked.

“Nope, a cabinet.”

I opened the back door on her SUV and to my surprise… we picked up a Singer model 42 “Art Deco” sewing cabinet and stool for twenty bucks. The cabinet was a little heavy. Apparently the model 15 inside it was included. The machine itself was fine, it didn’t need a thing, but the wood was going to need work. Sis was thinking that the 500A would look pretty good in a 42, and for the price, I agreed.

For the most part all that needed done to a lot of the cabinet was a good cleaning, some linseed oil and a few coats of wax. I couldn’t say that for the top surface. It had the marks of what has became a recurring theme: house plants.  It’s almost an analogy; as if the water rings in the wood were saying ‘this machine hasn’t been used in years because no one sews anymore’ but no one could throw it out because it’s a good height for a night stand, hall table, window prop for plants.

The top took a lot of sanding. Looking back on it now perhaps the better route would have been buying new veneer, but again, there’s that thing. To me, it isn’t brand new so it shouldn’t look brand new. It should have some age, a few bumps and dings and stories to go with them. I’d rather try to celebrate the imperfections, so that’s what I did. The hard part in this case was matching the tones.

As the final coat on the 42 was drying… I went outside for a walk, and before I got back, I’d saved another sewing machine and stumbled upon a second cabinet.

Diane our neighbor had retired and decided to follow her son and his family to Texas. She’d sold the house and after a few yard sales she thought she was down to just those things she wanted to move. She’d had one of those containers delivered to her driveway and had spent the last three days packing it to the brim. When I went out for my walk I saw her.  She was sitting on her stoop with a frustrated look.

“What’s wrong?” I asked

“It won’t fit.” She pointed, and hidden from my point of view was a sewing cabinet.

“The cabinet?”

“Yeah, and that’s got me down.”

I took a cursory walk around the cabinet and then a peek in the back of the container and she was right. There may have been a way to reorganize it enough to squeeze it in, but it would take half a day.

“That’s the only sewing machine I ever owned.” She volunteered.

“Oh yeah?”

“It’s nothing all that fancy, but I bought it – with my own money. It was my first job after graduating high school and I was still living at home for that summer and I saved my paychecks and I picked it out myself.”

“Mind if I take a look?” I asked.

“No, please, go right ahead.”

It wasn’t so much a cabinet as a single pedestal desk with a light maple finish. There wasn’t a hinged lid, but instead an insert that popped out. I lifted the panel and swung into view a Singer Stylist from the 70’s.  I took one look at it, and turned back to Diane.

“Have you ever sewn on a table top with a portable machine?”

“Yeah. Of course.”

“Do you have any issues doing that?”

“No,” she gave me the oddest look, “I can’t think of any.”

“Can you give me just a minute?”

“Yeah...” I ran back to the garage, grabbed the screwdriver I knew I needed and then back next door.  I lifted the Stylist, loosened the two screws, popped the pedal from the knee control clips and handed her the machine.

“Will this fit on the back seat of your car?” I asked and she just stared at me.

“I had no idea…”

“Yep, completely portable. Not exactly light, but the bottom cover has little felt feet.”

“I… yes. It will fit in my car. I can’t believe…”

“Oh c’mon now. Who goes around looking at the undersides of sewing machines?”

She laughed. I laughed, and then she looked back at the table.

“You want it?” she said.

“I don’t know if we need it, but I’ll take care of it for you.”

Later, in the garage, with what felt predestined, I lifted the 525 off the work bench and it slipped right into the little blonde table – everything lined up - as if it was meant to be?