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I’ve had a very good excuse not to attempt pandemic mask making: my sewing machine was packed for moving. The machine is a 1957 Necchi Supernova, surely one of the heaviest ever made, although I don’t remember it feeling quite so leaden when I was younger. I’ve moved that machine multiple times, but the last time was 1990. It is quite easy to take it out of the sewing cabinet: just tilt the head back and remove two little screws. I’d done it by myself many times. This time, I lifted it into my arms before realizing I no longer possessed the strength to lay it gently on the floor.
The machine and I staggered into a nearby chair until help arrived while I marveled at my youthful state of fitness. My husband eventually came to the rescue and we wrapped the head carefully and put in my trunk for transport to the new house.
Two weeks post-move we decided to reassemble it. Years and years of using those two little screws evaporated from my aging brain as we blithely put it together without them. And voila, the whole thing crashed through the dust cover at the bottom of the cabinet, ripping screws asunder before we caught it just before it hit the floor. After an hour of failed attempts the light dawned: the screws! Where are the two little screws?
“You can’t be serious that this entire thing is held in place with two screws,” my husband frowned. I don’t blame him for doubting me after what I’d just put him through. And so the hunt for the screws ensued. After a week of looking through variously labeled boxes at random moments of the day (and once in the middle of the night), while mumbling about a war being lost for want of a nail, I gave up.
“I think I must have put them in my pocket and lost them in the wash or something.” Without those two little screws the machine was worthless. It lacked a based to sit upon. No one seemed to be offering 1957 Necchi screws online, but someone was offering an entire machine for more than it cost new. I also found an interesting blog about vintage sewing machines.
Another week went by. We continued to open boxes while staff working in the White House tested positive for Covid-19. The idea that our nation’s leaders – the ones who walk around without masks – might have been exposed to the virus was no surprise to me. I was much more shocked to open a box and find the foot pedal for the sewing machine and a baggie containing those two little expletive deleted screws. I was pleased that I had done something careful and sensible with them, even if I didn’t remember doing it.
We dove into action. My husband pulled on gloves to protect his hands, I pulled two screwdrivers, an assortment of woodscrews and the baggie and we settled down to business. We managed to put the dust catcher back on with relative ease. But getting the head in place was elusive. The base must fit exactly on two pegs that swivel down at the slightest touch. After multiple attempts we finally had it in place and turned the screws to tighten them only to discover that only one side had been fixed in place. The very vulgar words I felt compelled to utter did not improve the ache in my back.
We rested. We had lunch. “Do you want to try again?” my husband asked.
“Not yet.” I popped a Tylenol and procrastinated for a while. Our youngest daughter dropped off a Mother’s Day gift including chocolate. I put on my mask and stared longingly at her face, my arms itching to hug her close.
Another bout with the sewing machine suddenly seemed a good distraction. We got it in place once more and my husband wiggled it carefully while I worried it would pop back off. Something ka-chunked down. “That was something,” he said. The screws went in. I tightened them. Slowly, slowly we lowered the head into the cabinet. Nothing fell. Nothing ripped. We moved it back up. Still good. Victory! We triumphed over a machine. The virus is next.
Two Types of Screwdrivers
I called the overhead door company: “Hi. One of the hinges on my garage door is broken.”
“Are you calling for service?”
“Well, yes, I um, thought so. You installed it.”
“Oh…. you don’t want me to come out. You can do it yourself, you know. I’ll charge you $70 just to come out there and look at it, so save yourself a lot of money.”
“I see. And how would I go about doing that?”
“Well, you just get a wrench or a screwdriver and take off the broken hinge. You bring it in here and I’ll give you a new one. Then you put the new one back on.”
“Okay, if you say so. I’ll give it a shot.”
My two-year-old granddaughter and I collected both types of screwdriver. I buckled her into her seat and moved the car to the driveway — just in case I ruined the door and had to make a service appointment after all. We shut the garage door and made ready to unscrew the hinge. It used nuts, not screws, so we went back into the house for an adjustable wrench.
The temperature in the garage seemed only slightly lower than beastly, but the project looked pretty straightforward. My granddaughter pretended to unbolt another hinge while I struggled with the slipping wrench. It was slow going and getting hotter by the minute. An anguished cry interrupted my work.
“Grandma! My hands!”
A Greasy Hinge
“What’s wrong with your hands? Are you hurt?” In answer, she showed me some small grease marks. I looked at my hands too. They were very greasy. “I’ll clean your hands when we’re done. See – my hands are dirtier than yours! Sometimes you have to get dirty when you fix things!” Following another horrified plea for a paper towel, she accepted that her hands must remain soiled for the time being.
By the time the hinge had been removed, my hands were so dirty I didn’t want to touch anything. My helper was considerably less dirty, so I persuaded her to get a paper bag for me.
Hands clean, we went back to the car with our paper bag of parts. Buckled the car seat. Drove to the overhead door company.
“Hi. I talked to someone this morning about my broken hinge. He talked me into taking it off myself.”
“Wasn’t me. I’d NEVER do THAT…” said the man behind the counter. “It wasn’t me either!” his sidekick hastened to add.
“Okay. Well, it doesn’t matter. Someone told me to take off the hinge and bring it in…. and here it is!”
“Oh, well then, that’s okay. Just give it here.” He went in the back and returned with a new hinge. “See how one of these holes is bigger than the other one? Well, you just make sure that you keep the small hole down on the bottom. Then you’ll be just fine.”
“Okay. I can do that. It was awfully hard to take off those nuts, though. Do you have a tool I can borrow that would fit in the space easier?”
What You Need Is A Ratchet Wrench!
“Oh no ma’am. We can’t lend tools here. What you need is a ratchet wrench.”
I had a dim memory that ratchets came in sizes. “What size would I need?”
He wrote down 7/16th for me. “Just take that to the hardware store. They’ll fix you right up.”
Back to the car. Seat buckled and off to the hardware store. All the clerks were engaged in one way or another, so I picked one who looked liked he’d been around tools a long time and waited for him to get off his mobile phone.
“Can I help you?” (Finally!)
“Yes, I need a helpful hardware person to find a 7/16th ratchet-thing.
“I’ve got to do something else first. I’ll be back.”
We waited, but never saw him again. A helpful hardware woman approached. “Need something?”
“Um yes, I need a 7/16th ratchet-thing.”
“You mean you need a socket.”
“Maybe… but the man at the overhead door said I needed a ratchet.”
“So you need both?”
“I dunno. I guess so.”
She led the way to a glass case and proceeded to explain something that went straight over my head. Eventually, I came to understand that ratchets are not adjustable like wrenches. Ratchets hold sockets. Sockets come in sizes. Only one ratchet would fit the size socket I needed. Suddenly I felt like we might have a ratchet at home somewhere.
“I think I’d better call my husband and see if we already have a ratchet.”
By this time, my granddaughter had become disinterested in the project and fully aware that my attention was not completely engaged with her small person. She started to wander off. “Hold onto Grandma’s pants,” I directed. She complied. I dialed my husband. “I’m at the hardware store. Do we already have a ratchet? Take your hands off the glass and put them back on my pants.”
“Are you talking to me?”
“Yes. No. Do we have a ratchet? Those keys are not toys. Put your hand back on my pants, please!”
It turned out that we did have a ratchet, but it was too small for the 7/16th socket. By this time, the hardware woman had developed a very low opinion of my competence.
“On the chance that you don’t know how to put the socket on the ratchet, this is what you do.” She demonstrated too quickly and walked us to the checkout counter. “Be sure to give her a receipt so she can bring it back,” she told the clerk.
Cost of hinge: $4.75. Cost of ratchet and socket: $22.45. Total savings: $42.80. (Unless a service call was also needed.) Back to the car. Seat buckled. Home again and it’s lunchtime. “I’ll make your lunch now, and fix the door while you’re taking a nap.”
Ready To Work
My pint-sized helper was not about to be shut out of the finale. “No! I help fix the garage door!” The determined look on her face convinced me.
“Okay, then. Here we go!”
I placed the socket on the ratchet correctly with the second try. It turned on the third try. My granddaughter watched the proceedings closely and handed me the nuts as needed.
“Wow, look at that! Look how this this tool works! This is so much better!”
We stepped back to admire our handiwork. “Is it fixed Grandma? Open it! Open it!”
The door opened. We cheered. Back in the car. Seat buckled. Car in the garage. Door down.
“Now what time is it?”
“Lunchtime!”
And if another hinge should break — we’re ready.
A New Hinge
Glimpses From the Curve 