Grandma and Her Sewing Machine

There is a unique intimacy that my grandmother shared with her sewing machine

It seemed they were soulmates for there was never a moment when they were not perfectly synched. 

And as she pedaled through the night in the dimness of the light, each sound was one melody in a beautiful symphony that would become my bedtime stories for many years.

Grandma and her sewing machine created perfection from absolutely nothing. And each creation was uniquely and authentically designed to hide the imperfections of its owner. For there was nothing grandma and her sewing machine could not create.

And as their union evolved, it carried the burden of our dreams and our survival. We were clothed, fed and educated from that union. And we all evolved from this union. We and our degrees and talents and skills and careers are the product of the endless nights of the symphony that sang on to many sunrises.

And when her sewing machine upgraded itself from its pedals that were now squeaking from tiresome singing, she had to learn to adapt to its new features. And her tired, swollen feet welcomed the electric motor and her strained eyes and needle pricked fingertips were happy. And the symphony changed his tune but not its purpose. For the union still carried the burden of our dreams and survival.

And as our dreams materialized and we started to bear some of our burdens, as that union taught us to be accountable for our own success, we hoped that grandma and her sewing machine would rest, if not retire. 

And as age and illness inevitably begin to creep in, and eyes slowly begin to experience only the evening shades, grandma never once thought to rest, or even retire.

And although we argued and begged and pleaded and reasoned, and even threatened to sever the union by getting rid of the sewing machine, she still refused to rest, or even retire.

And it has taken me years, but now I realize that grandma and her sewing machine were not just soulmates. 

They were one. 

And if we had separated her from her sewing machine, we would have sealed her fate. And when her feet refused to be useful she told me it was time for her to go home. And now I understand, grandma needed her sewing machine, she could not walk alone.

And every now and then I still hear the sweet symphony of grandma and her sewing machine. 

I hear the symphony of grandma and her machine when life gets so busy and chaotic. That sweet symphony quietly plays on the strings of my heart to give me peace.

I hear the symphony of grandma and her sewing machine when the successi have attained sems to guide my life. The symphony becomes the gravity that holds me in place and reminds me of the importance of humility.

I hear the symphony of grandma and her sewing machine when I lose sight of my dreams and giving up seems a viable option. The symphony reminds me that it carried the burden of my dreams so that I can always believe nothing is outside my reach. 

The symphony of grandma and her sewing machine guides my life and for that I will always be thankful.