David Bowie keeps running through my head as I continue to fight the tension on my sewing machine. Now I shouldn't put too much pressure on my sweet little Betty, who, bless her heart, hasn't sewn a stitch (before yesterday) in decades, so shouldn't be expected to be too consistent with her stitches. And, after all, I think it was I who may have (wince) tinkered with that knob that just may have been what turns out to be (now that I've unearthed a pdf copy online of the 1930s edition of the manual for this machine) the stitch tension "thumb nut." So after a day of sweet sewing bliss on my 90 year-old Betty, I now get a hot mess on the back of the machine. And I was so proud of reloading the bobbin and everything! Drat!
And I really can't blame this machine, because this is a consistent theme with me. I could blame Singer machines. After all, I've sewn on exactly TWO machines, they've both been Singers, and I've had tension issues on both machines. Both machines would probably (correctly) point their little needles right at me. But it's kinda hard to adjust tension when it's a hit-or-miss formula (if it's messy, adjust tension . . . I mean, really! I need exact instructions: "if it looks like this . . . [insert specific examples of bad stitches] then set the number to X"). Harrumph. Okay, so I'm back to hand-sewing. Time to wrap my fingers in duct tape!
And what, you may be wondering, is that picture? It's the bobbin and shuttle. And all the thread I pulled out of the bobbin. It's been in there I don't know how many decades. Clearly whoever last used it (and the gentleman from whom I bought Betty had it for decades and never used it, but bought it from an older woman who did use it) just added thread on top of thread. Right at the center was an intense, gorgeous green thread that looks as if it was hand-dyed. So cool!
Yes, I don't get out much these days!