Lost in Emotion

I haven't made much more progress on the Singer 99k. It is staring at me, begging to be finished but my mind has been elsewhere the last few days. I received and email from my sister regarding our younger twin brothers. It seems both of them are very unhappy in their current home situation and would like to move out, away from their adoptive father, and to come live with one of us.

I probably need to share a little background information on the twins to make things a little more clear. Romulus and Remus (names changed to protect their identities) will be thirteen in a few weeks; they were just five when Mom lost her battle with cancer and only three when she was diagnosed. Mom had custody of the twins from the day they came home from the hospital; their birth-mother chose Mom not only to be the twins' foster mother, but to be the one to adopt them as well. Mom was highly respected in her local DFACS area and she had built a reputation of being able to do amazing things with troubled children in state care. In fact, throughout my entire life, there was only a short period of one to two years where we did not have a foster child in our home. So when the twins' birth-mother chose Mom to adopt the boys, she and my step-father agreed.

During Mom's battle with kidney cancer, she developed tumors on her spine and had to have them removed. Before she went into the hospital, Mom asked if Michel and I would take and raise the twins should something happen to her. Mom had discussed it with my step-father, and while he wasn't keen on the idea, he agreed.

After much discussion, we agreed to Mom's request and thought that if the time came, we would all be able to adjust, having given as much forethought into the situation as possible. Fortunately the surgery went well, but her recovery was long and rough; and she spent over five weeks in ICU. Mom battled hard and was determined to be home in time for Thanksgiving, under my protest and hesitation from her doctor. I don't know how, but she did it.

Mom's recovery continued at home and I decided to spend all of Christmas with her that year. It was the first and only Christmas that Michel and I have spent apart; and it was to be Mom's last Christmas as well. I can't tell you how much joy I had 'playing' Santa Claus for the twins and the other children. It certainly was a Christmas I will never forget and Mom, being practical, brought up the possibility of Michel and I raising the twins again. I reassured her that we would still gladly take them, but if she kept fighting the cancer with such determination, there would surely be no need for us.

Come summer time, Mom's cancer began to invade her soft tissue. The only treatment option left to her was the Interleukin-2, bad-ass chemotherapy. Her oncologist gave her a less than 5% chance of the treatment working, and that it could be fatal to Mom in her already weakened state. As her only chance of survival, she chose that path and I was right there with her. She brought up the twins' arrangement, and again I assured her that Michel and I would make her proud. I won't go into detail about that last week in the hospital. I've not discussed that with anyone, not even Michel; it's too painful and hurts too much even seven years later. But suffice it to say, Mom did not survive her treatment. On July 5, 2005, Mom lost her hard fought battle at the young age of 55.

After the funeral, with my adult brothers and sisters in tow, I sat down with our step-father to discuss arrangements for the twins, as well as the other minor children. We talked about Mom's request, my intentions on how Michel and I would raise the boys, how we we keep them part of the family - no one would lose touch, how they would attend Church (Catholic, Episcopalian or Lutheran, but not Baptist), etc. He asked that he be given some time and I understood that it was too soon; they all needed time to mourn together; I needed time to mourn.

By Christmas of that year, it became evident that my step-father had no intentions of relinquishing custody. That brought about a very large argument between us, and I freely admit my fault in the situation. The end result being that I was forbade from stepping foot on my mother's land or in my mother's house again; I was threatened with arrest if I did otherwise. Yes, I'm still bitter and angry about that, but much less so than I was six years ago. In the meantime, the step-father has retained custody of all of the children.

I will give him credit as a provider: he has given them shelter, clothing and food, albeit much less that they all required, but they are all still living, relatively healthy and none are currently in juvenile hall, jail, etc. But he has not been and is not a father to any of the children. He failed my mother as a husband, and he has failed those children as a father. (Yes, I'm know - I have a HUGE issues with my mother and his relationship; I have accepted it was her decision to stay with him and I thought I had dropped it completely, until it rose its nasty head with my sister's email.) I am not the only person who sees it this way, but he has undone all of the positive work and effects that Mom had had on those children. Mom and my step-father's friends have made those comments to me, as well as people from her DFACS community. (Remember, it's a small town...a really small town.) But no one (including me), would step in and report him to DFACS; no one there wanted to take on nine kids at once; no one wanted to separate them; and no one (especially me) wanted them back in state custody. I did at one point consult with an attorney to seek legal custody of the boys, but I was advised against it for multiple reasons. One of them being Georgia's anti-gay adoption policies; Mom died without a Will, and left no written instructions of her wishes - my raising of the boys would be seen as 'hearsay'; and the one that bothered me most - I couldn't put the boys through a custody battle. I've seen what custody battles do to children in heterosexual divorces, and I would not do that to Romulus and Remus. They had lost their mother, and at the time I didn't want to take away the only father they had known. So I stepped away and prayed for the best, all the while feeling as though I had let Mom down. I still have twinges of that feeling ever now and again - at holidays, birthdays, etc.

As soon as they turned 18, the two oldest moved out while the step-father wasn't there. He had no clue they were gone until the children told him they had moved out. The middle children, still minors, have dropped out of school, have no jobs and have no direction. One of the girls (I'll call her Grace, to protect her identity) was put into an institution about a year after Mom passed, but they forced her out when she turned 18 a few months ago. Grace is now living back at home with my step-father and the remaining kids. She has been home for less than three months and has attempted suicide twice, swallowing broken glass both times. Grace is currently in the hospital.

And that brings us back to Romulus and Remus. This past month, they spent a few weeks with my sisters and their children. I was able to spend some time with them as well, and it was a joy to see them. My heart ached to hear their stories of how miserable they all were at home and how they all wanted to leave. The older children drove up for a Sunday cookout and shared the same horrible stories. My heart strings began to be pulled in all directions again. A few nights before the boys had to return home, they asked not to go back. Romulus was in tears and Remus asked to come live with me. Since my step-father and I still do not talk, my sisters played mediator and expressed our concerns with him. Whether it was to placate my sisters and the boys, I do not know, but he agreed that when Romulus and Remus turn 14, they can choose where to live and he will agree to it. He has even agreed to put it in writing and is supposedly having a will drawn up expressing it as well. And I have been invited to spend as much time with the boys as I wish. I am planning on doing just that, if for no other reason than to share with them the best part of our mother that they never had a chance to know. (I'm not sure I've been given permission to step foot on the land or in the house yet, so I'll definitely be taking a sister along for the first visit - Momma didn't raise a complete fool.)

Even more amazing to me, my step-father admitted that keeping all nine of the children by himself was a mistake. Again, I'll give him credit for taking responsibility, but I have to ask why wait another year? Do you know how much mental/emotional damage a kid can suffer in a year? Yes, Michel and I will still take them both in a year's time, if that is what they want. We will shower them with all of the love and affection that Mom had intended for them to have. And I admit, this last week has drained me emotionally. Issues I thought were gone and buried are back. I must re-face and put them to rest, once and for all. Honestly, I had hoped to never have to see/hear/talk to my step-father ever again. Spending time with Romulus and Remus, and showing them that life can be better, will hopefully help me to keep my mouth shut and my opinions to myself. (Fat chance - Dad says I'm more like Mom everyday. When it came to the well-being of children, she did not keep her opinions to herself. I suppose that is one of the many reasons DFACS loved her so much!)

I've sat on this post for a few days now, uncertain on publishing it or not. It's not care-free as my most recent posts, and I hope I don't bring anyone down by sharing it. Putting it out here opens it up for discussion with strangers, but may yield new perspectives that Michel and I have pondered. I won't ask for myself, but if any of you would keep Romulus and Remus in your prayers, I would certainly appreciate it.

On a bright note - the boys do need new clothes, and I have a ton of barely used XXL dress shirts that can be cut down and re-purposed as new shirts for both boys. Between the boys, sewing clothes for them, and my vintage sewing machines, I should have loads to write about and to keep my mind busy!

Antique/Thrift Shopping (or How a Singer 99k followed me home)

A few Saturdays ago,  Michel, my sister Deana and I went spent the day together and set about antique shopping in some of the north Georgia towns. Deana had been asking me for weeks to go with her, just to spend time together and to help her find some Depression Glass. I was fortunate enough to inherit my mother's Depression Glass (who got if from her mother, her got it from her mother-in-law) and my sister wants to start a collection of her own. So, we set off in search of something yellow, her favorite color.

Our first stop was a veritable treasure trove of glass. You name it, they had it. We found lots of different yellow pieces in more patterns than I can remember. Deana found a few that she liked, but didn't purchase anything, as it was only our first stop and she couldn't commit to a favorite pattern. While we were at that shop, I found a few vintage sewing odds and ends that I thought were neat, but didn't purchase. On the drive to the next stop, a voice in the back of my head said to actively look for sewing paraphernalia. Sometimes I listen to that voice a little too much and passed on to Michel and Deana that I was looking for "Singer" branded items.

The second stop was a typical antiques store - lots of nice things, but at very high prices. We browsed around, with the usual 'just looking' response when asked if we needed help. I always feel bad just 'window shopping'; those store owners need to earn a living just as much as I do and every just browsing customer is a non-paying customer.  But, as we were about to leave, Deana spotted a little green box with 'Singer' on it. The box was full of attachments for a low-shank machine - perfect for my newly acquired Singer Featherweight! The price was less than I could find online and I scooped them up!

The next stop was the mountain city of Ellijay - a place with antique/thrift stores galore! Browsing around the first in a long line of stores, I gravitated towards a wood domed shaped object, knowing its significance as a case for vintage & antique sewing machines.

I opened it up and inside was a Singer 99 sewing machine. The machine was mostly intact, but missing the critical knee bar controller so there was no way to test the electric motor. The wires were in fair shape, and thinking about it, it would not have been safe to try it out; exposed wiring is not something you want to play with. For its condition and missing pieces, the asking price was a little high and I wasn't willing to take the gamble on how much work it would need, given that high asking price. I spent a good twenty  minutes or so pondering the purchase. How badly did I want it? Did I really need another machine? I lost count at eight machines, but what's one more? Right? Right? Well, rationality took over and I passed on this one. There would be others I was certain.

But I didn't leave empty handed. Deana found me this gem, for a decent price and it goes perfectly with my model 27 treadle from 1899 (machine number 3 in my growing collection).

Several more hours of store shopping yielded many interesting finds, but nothing that screamed 'take me home'. Probably not a bad thing for my wallet in the grand scheme of things. On our return trip home, we decided to stop at an recently opened antique/thrift shop near my sister's home. Deana said it was a re purposed Hobby Lobby, so I knew it would have lots and lots of treasures. There were neat things, but again, no 'screamers'. Although, I was certain I would scream personally if I had seen one more sewing machine treadle cabinet with those nice cast iron legs underneath a piece of glass for a decorator table! For me, you might as well take a Tiffany lamp and smash it against a wall. It hurts my soul to see the wonderful machines cast out as trash and destroyed. Oh the stories they could tell if only they could speak. How many hours of hard labor had each of them seen under the tender hands of their owners? Maybe that is the root of my hidden desire to restore every forsaken machine I come across. Those machines were designed to last a lifetime, many of them have done so with proper care and maintenance; some of them multiple lifetimes.

And so, at this last store of the day, this little forgotten treasure came home with me.

I wasn't going to purchase this machine; it is electric and needs a complete re-wire. That isn't beyond my skill level, but not something I had on my 'to do' list, as it were.  But through the use of modern technology (thank you Android and 4G!), we ran the serial number and according to Singer, this machine was allotted on January 5, 1950. Which in non-collector speak, means this machine was manufactured sometime between January 5 through July 27, 1950 (the next allotment for this model). Why is that important? Well, to a Singer Collector, there is no significance to that particular date; nothing unusual about the machine to make it extraordinarily collectible.  But to me, to me it has meaning. Mom was born in February 1950. This little machine and woman I treasured could very well share the same birthday. Though that I could, I know I can't bring Mom back. But, I could breathe new life into this little machine. Michel saw the gleam in my eye as we discussed the machine's 'birth date'. He knew what its significance meant to me.


Michel bought this little gem for me. Not only because it reminded me of Mom (though she never really sewed), but also because I think he gets a bit joy from watching my excitement as I bring one of these little babies back from the brink of death.  I've been busy working on her since we brought her home. Yes, this machine is a 'her', and her name is Ann. As I progress, I'll post photos so you can see Ann's rebirth. I can't wait to sew with her; perhaps Ann's first project will be a sundress for the grand-daughter her namesake never had a chance to meet.