Thirty years ago, my grandmother bought sewing machines for each of her three daughters. Although this event took place a number of years before I was born, I have often imagined the conversation that must have occurred when my grandmother presented my mother with her share of the bounty.
My Grandmother
I have parted with a great deal of my hard-earned money in order to buy you this sewing machine. For as long as anyone can remember, the women in our family have been skilled at needlework. I expect that you, my eldest daughter, will continue in this fine tradition and uphold the heritage of the many quilters, dress-makers, and seamstresses who came before you.
My Mother
...
...
Grandmother
You heard what I said about the
Mother
Do you remember that time in 4-H when I sewed the seams crooked in that skirt and you made me rip them all out and re-do them?
Grandmother
Yes, well—
Mother
—RIP THEM OUT AND RE-DO THEM FOUR TIMES?
Grandmother
I SAID HERITAGE, AREN'T YOU LISTENING.
Mother
—AND THEN YOU MADE ME WEAR THE STUPID THING UNTIL ONE DAY I CUT IT INTO LITTLE PIECES AND BURIED IT WITH THE CAT?
Grandmother
...the cat?
Mother
HATRED! LOATHING! NEEDLES! ARGH!! *runs away, screaming*
I presume the conversation proceeded in that manner, or very near it, because immediately upon receipt of said sewing machine my mother stored it in a closet, where it remained until I dug it out in September of 2006. And a