Yesterday, a fall cleanup project that I am trying to complete wore me out.
I blame the dizziness I am experiencing on my new glasses.
One of the thick lenses frequently falls out of the fragile wire frame.
I have been back to the provider twice and still the problem exists.
This senior will need to wear this old prescription until tomorrow.
I hope the provider can fix the problem or replace the faulty frame.
I would like to study the manual that came with my new Singer sewing machine.
I have much to learn about Model 7463.
The lenses of my glasses must stay in place.
I purchased a Singer sewing machine five years ago that has far less functions and needs repaired.
In 1958, while living in San Diego, I saw a commercial that informed the viewers that there had been a train wreck.
The company was offering portable affordable sewing machines for the low cost of $25 each.
My young sailor husband gave them a call.
An appointment was set in place for us to see the sewing machine.
We waited for approximately two weeks for the sale representative to arrive.
I planned to do all that I could do with the ordinary black sewing machine.
We were expecting our first child, and I wanted to sew.
The new baby would have cute pink or blue gowns, etc.
Any color would do.
How could I be so fortunate to continue perfecting the skills gained in sewing classes in school?
The day arrived.
A portly man pulled up to our apartment building and brought the advertised machine to our door.
Paul wanted to purchase that machine for me.
The man supposed that before we made up our minds, another model in the vehicle might be preferred instead.
Indeed, it was a good-looking machine made by "White."
The latest model at the time, came complete with tools, a plastic set of cams and an easy-to-read and understand manual.
Paul asked the price and the man informed us that the sophisticated portable metal machine/with case was only $299.
I suppose he read our thoughts and surmised that our wants were bigger than our needs and the young seaman's pocketbook.
The man offered a workable solution.
He said that if we wanted the nicer machine, payments would be an affordable option.
We agreed on the terms that called for 36 payments in three years and purchased the machine.
We were fortunate to be able to pay off the bill much sooner.
Paul took a part-time job at Belmont Amusement Park peeling potatoes and cutting them into French fries at a concession stand there.
I sold "Wearever" pots, pans and cookbooks door to door in the big city.
We returned to Brazil to live after Paul was discharged from his tour of duty with the United States Navy.
Too proud to complain, we were carrying far more possessions than we left town with when we eloped on a gold day in November 1957.
We came home from California, in early March 1960, on a Greyhound bus.
We were greeted by a snowy day.
Paul was carrying our beautiful baby, Starla Gail.
The driver unloaded, at our feet: One sea bag that contained our tiny family's clothing, a shiny black footlocker filled with a few other possessions, including six cans of okra and that heavy portable sewing machine.
The snow felt good, and so did we!
Paul found a job shortly thereafter at Terre Haute First National Bank.
We were barely making ends meet on his income. Rent was $60. Imagine that!
We were expecting our second child, Paul Sartor Jr.
Our little boy was born Sept. 8, 1960.
During the first six weeks of his life, "Little Paul" lived at home.
We had loads of laundry, not only for the needs of a sick baby, a toddler and us, as well.
Our family needed a washing machine.
Times were very tough.
We had no car.
Paul was paying for transportation to and from work and later Riley Hospital and so much more.
I went downtown to Bill Gibson's Trading Post to see if I could sell the sewing machine and buy a washing machine.
The cost of a nice washing machine was $39.
I told Mr. Gibson my story, in moments of depression and desperation.
He said that I could leave the sewing machine with him until I paid off the washing machine.
I did and that kind man delivered the appliance to my home the next day.
In no time, honoring that plan and my promise to Mr. Gibson, the sewing machine came home.
Paul Jr. died in Riley Children's Hospital at age 4 months and 5 days on Jan. 13, 1961.
I still have a tiny blue outfit that my precious baby boy wore, a save that is important to me.
The sewing machine is well over a half a century old now.
It sits idle, like-new in a maple solid wood cabinet that my thoughtful husband purchased from the late James House, another good man we had the privilege to know.
The belt stretches a tad over time.
Other than that small problem, she still purrs like a kitten and holds a ton of memories, good and not so good.
Who knows what I will make with the new fangled machine this winter?
Maybe, to keep Paul Baby in stitches or turn him off, this nut will make something revealing for myself.
I can be reached by phone at 446-4852 or by e-mail at firstname.lastname@example.org.