My wife is a primary school teacher and teaches seriously. Several students with poor grades in her class are often left behind for tutoring after school. In order to facilitate doing household chores, my wife brings them back to our home not far from the school.
There are no desks and chairs at home, so the dining table stools and coffee table come in handy. There is also a sewing machine on the balcony, which is used by a girl alone. That day, she finished her homework lying on the sewing machine as usual, and then packed her schoolbag to leave. My wife opened the sewing machine and was about to mend a pillowcase. The girl suddenly turned her head and pointed at the upright head of the machine, and asked in surprise, "Where did it... where did it pop up from?" "What popped up? It's just here." My wife replied while threading the needle. The girl looked up and down, front and back with her head down, but couldn't see anything. How could this table that she lay on every day and was so familiar with be so magical, and it could also make a rattling sound. In a short while, the torn pillowcase was sewn.
The girl watched as my wife put away the head of the machine and closed the panel, with a curious expression still on her face. She touched it with her little hand and kept muttering, "Our clothes are sewn by it!"
This sewing machine was purchased in 1988. At that time, after graduating from school, my wife had nothing to do, so she plunged into the sewing machine training army. Later, it came to my home as a dowry together with my wife.
My wife's sewing skills are self-taught halfway. She doesn't dare to make big clothes. Occasionally, she makes children's underpants, short-sleeved tops, and also helps neighbors modify the size and style of clothes, and sew torn threads. During the summer vacation, in the air-conditioned room of my home, my daughter squatted on the floor playing with puzzles, I leaned on the sofa reading a book, and my wife was fiddling with the sewing machine in front of the window. With the rattling sound, a beautiful vest made its debut, and my daughter jumped happily and happily. The rattling sound is like notes beating; the rattling sound, the sewing machine has become old, and my daughter has also grown taller.
After moving several times, I began to think it was old and not very practical, and it was not light in weight. Especially when it had to be carried up to the third floor, it really took some effort, so I proposed to discard it or sell it to a junk collector.
"Sewing was originally my first profession, and now it's in the second place. It carries the initial dream I had when I was a girl. How can I throw it away? If you want to throw it away, throw me away together!" My wife firmly refuted me, and the firmness of her attitude and the toughness of her tone surprised me.
The long time has passed, and the sewing years are long. At that time, being a tailor was indeed a profession that many rural girls envied. I remember that there was a tailor shop at the east end of the neighboring village. The female tailor's surname was Chen, with a broad and snowy big face, and she was busy all day long. Tailor Chen was very famous, and people from dozens of miles around came here especially. It is said that there is no kind of clothes that Tailor Chen can't make. As long as you say the style, even if Tailor Chen has never seen it before, she still dares to make it. After the guests put it on, hey, it's just what he wants.
At the most, Tailor Chen had three female apprentices including my wife behind her, and she was still too busy. There was a luxurious chandelier hanging on her八仙 table at her home, which I had never seen before. Once it was time to cut the clothes, that bright chandelier would be turned on, and Tailor Chen took the paintbrush and long scissors to start working. This was the time when the most skills could be learned. The three apprentices surrounded her and stared at Tailor Chen intently...
After the 1990s, with the progress of the times, the sewing shops around gradually withdrew from the historical stage.
Keep this old friend! My wife's face is full of reluctance. In order to show her position, when decorating the house, I deliberately set aside a place for it. Nearly one square meter on one side of the balcony is its sphere of influence, although it looks rusty and mottled. My wife also specially went to the county seat to buy oil, thread, and a rotating shaft for the sewing machine, and also cut a piece of fabric and laid it on the panel of the sewing machine to reduce the damage of sunlight to it. Her series of actions moved me extremely, so I also treated the sewing machine as carefully as an old friend.
Writing here, I walked to the balcony again and took a look at the antique-level sewing machine: the light yellow and mottled tabletop, the rusty iron bracket... It's like a weathered middle-aged man, and the rich experience is hidden in the machine belly. Once opened, it rattles and narrates the past. In the clearly rhythmic notes, the years are blurred, but the memory is clear.