Getting to Know You

My sewing machine and I are having some… issues.

We’re still learning each other’s quirks and needs. I wonder why, at random, the feed dogs* refuse to pull the fabric through, instead opting to make a bajillion stitches in and out of the same hole. It wonders why I occasionally decide to do something indicating I might be brain-damaged: Stitching right side to wrong side, or wrong side to wrong side, or the wrong color to the pattern, et cetera.

There’s a type of log cabin quilting called “crazy quilting” or some such, in which one introduces a degree of crookedness as part of the design. I’m not wild about the way it looks, and I figure I should probably attempt to get it right, rather than deliberately try to f*** it up on the first shot.

Also: Fabric will only take so much abuse. While I can rip out a seam once and re-stitch it, more than twice is pushing it.

Also-also: I suspect the devil is in the seam allowances, and I’m still trying to figure out how to get that squared away.

Tomorrow, we’ll learn why one shouldn’t drink and sew. Even if it’s free-range, organic vodka made from Hawaiian sea water.

* You see what I did there? Threw that totally technical term in so smoothly? You’d almost think I knew what I was talking about, although I’ll probably get it wrong at some point and call the pedal the throttle and the foot lifter thingie a clutch. The “feed dogs” are the little toothed ridges under the foot that feed the fabric through at a rate appropriate to the stitching speed.

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