Today, my block had a big yard sale (a yearly event organized by our Block Watch Association, intended to help us get to know our neighbours), and in our classic style, Chris and I made a profit of -$3.75. Our landlady, Joyce, already knew this was going to happen. When we got outside this morning, she shouted across the yard, "I'll keep an eye on Chris! He always spends more than he makes at these things. Then you just have more junk to sell next year."
He was behaving himself remarkably well this year (meanwhile, I was trying to unload whatever I could at 25 or 50 cents apiece). While I was getting to pack up the rest of our stuff and get it ready to haul to the thrift store, Chris came over and said, "I need to consult with you about something I found. It only costs $5, but it's big." I may have rolled my eyes a little, because you have no idea how many pieces of archaic technology and how many semi-broken telescopes he has brought into our home. I should have noticed how proud of himself he looked.
Our next-door neighbour had offered him their 1926 electric Singer cabinet sewing machine for $5. (Which works!) Both of our moms have Singer cabinet sewing machines, although both of theirs are treadle-style. It's surprising how many women in my family have Singer sewing machines as side tables. It feels like home, having one in my home. It even smells like home.
It turns out that the only place in our apartment where it fits is next to my (new!) desk. I'm leaving it open for now, because what better inspiration for writing about working women in the late 1920s than this view: