I should keep an empty plate on the floor to welcome all the scraps that fall from my utensils while I eat breakfast. A Cheerio from my spoon, PLOP, dropped. A small portion of my scrambled egg, PLOP, dropped as it journeyed to my mouth. With my bottom still resting on the chair my head and arms bend down to retrieve the fallen morsels down under my large oval oak kitchen table.

I view the shiny black ornate cast iron support of this table and I am also looking at what once had been the metal of Momma’s Singer treadle sewing machine. I am looking at the base of that sewing apparatus which played such an important role in her daily life and an important role in my wardrobe. Viewing this reconnects me with fond memories of Momma. I see her foot pushing the treadle up and down. I hear the treadle going BANG, BANG, BANG!!!

Momma treasured that Singer. Many household items like bedspreads and curtains were made on that machine. Hand sewing was for small tasks like hems and minor repairs. My appreciation of her talent was the satisfaction of owning one-of-kind originals. Store bought was too costly. 

We were poor so fabric was used frugally. Each scrap became part of my pajamas; the front was striped, the back polka dots, each sleeve and pajama leg another color. Those pajamas would be the height of fashion today.

I was the only child in the neighborhood with a Dy Dee doll who had a wardrobe that matched mine. Momma made me and the doll the same orange velvet coat with black trimming.

She sewed my green Spring costume which I wore as the lead in my Third-Grade play. As Spring, I woke up all the flowers on the stage.

This treadle sewing machine made my favorite party dress with a square neckline and dropped gathered waist.
When in use, the machine went BANG, BANG, Bang. When not in use, it was closed and became my homework desk.

Momma, I need to come up from under the table and finish my breakfast. What joy it was to reconnect with you through these fond warm memories.