My sewing machine is the same well-loved machine I've used ever since I was a teenager, a half-century ago. The machine was already 30 years old at that point. It had belonged to my Grandma, a gift from Grandpa in the early years of their marriage, and she happily passed it along to me.
It is a beautiful 1935 Singer Featherweight (picture attached). It works like a dream, despite its age. It has had all its wiring completely overhauled, because the old insulation was flaking off the wires. But otherwise, it's all original. The other members of the quilt group admire it whenever I haul it along to a quilt meeting. I still have the original instruction book and carrying case, too! The handle has broken off the case and been replaced with a rope handle, but that's okay.
It's not an antique to be kept on a shelf, but has been a practical working machine all its life, a useful life which still continues. So I love the machine itself, for its practical usefulness. But I also love its long history. When I use it, I have memories of sewing projects of my youth, and also memories of Grandma, and all of her sewing history before my time, all of which makes it special.
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