Transform Your T-Shirt into a Tunic - CraftStylish

Transform Your T-Shirt into a Tunic - CraftStylish

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Century-Old Treasures

I stopped by an estate sale yesterday. I had shopped at this particular sale the day before and noticed an antique sewing machine cabinet in the home’s dining room. The cabinet top was closed and displayed numerous diminutive knick-knacks for sale. The room was dark and crowded, so I didn’t inspect the machine because I thought to myself, “I didn’t need another sewing machine.”

When I approached the sewing machine cabinet yesterday, however, the tiny home was not as crowded with shoppers, so I knelt down to look under the cabinet to see if indeed a machine was tucked inside. Another shopper, a man, remarked that he had also wondered if the cabinet contained a machine but had been too lazy to remove all the items placed on the cabinet’s top.

As I collected all the tiny glass figurines, porcelain vases, and painted china cups to put them aside, I told the man that I believed we’d discover a Singer model 27. When I lifted the machine head, I found that my hunch was correct. Singer’s model 27 was manufactured from the late 1800s to the early 1900s. Realizing that I had unearthed a treasure, my interest was piqued. Knowing that all items were discounted by 30 percent, I was quickly losing my sales resistance.

Singer treadles from this era form stitches using a vibrating shuttle and long, slender bobbins. The man’s wife had joined us as we, along with others, gawked at the dusty machine. The man mentioned that he’d seen an accessory box inside one of the drawers. I knew that I had to have this machine the moment I opened the drawer and saw the pristine Singer puzzle box loaded with original accessories.

After I paid a mere $65 for the machine, two men loaded it into my vehicle, and I headed home. When I pulled into my driveway, I saw my sweet husband outside doing yard work. I approached my husband and offered sound reasons for my purchase. “The puzzle box alone is worth what I paid for the machine, cabinet, and the box,” I insisted. My husband shrugged his shoulders and said, “It’s fine with me. I am glad you got it.”

I later learned that Singer manufactured this particular machine around November 28, 1904. After my husband set the machine in our garage, I was thrilled to discover that the treadle mechanism operates with a wooden pitman. I frequently peruse Yahoo’s Vintage Singer group and had seen photos of machines with a wooden pitman, which, in my opinion, denotes incredible workmanship.

As I mined my usual Internet resources for more information about the Singer 27, I learned that the decal set on this machine, referred to as “pheasant” is rare. I cite two trusted sources who mentioned this fact. However, my decals aren’t pristine, but I hope a gentle clean-up might brighten these elaborate decorations.

Here are photos of my new treasure, which is still dusty and grimy but in excellent condition, nonetheless. The machine is in my garage at the moment, as well. In coming days, I will attempt to clean the machine with Blue Magic TR-3. I will also oil the head and other moving parts. After I ensure that the machine is ready to roll, I will attempt to learn how to operate this mechanical marvel.

It’s quite evident to me that the previous owners loved and cared for this marvelous, 105-year-old sewing machine. I am humbled and delighted to take that torch.

Singer 27 Treadle Head




Singer Cabinet with Elaborate Carvings



Singer Puzzle Box







Wooden Pitman

I Guess I Heard the Fat Lady Sing Today . . .

And it was a sad song indeed. Last Christmas, my daughter broke off her engagement to a young man I had grown to love with all of my heart. I was numb at the time. I cried as I put away my Christmas ornaments. I cried throughout January. I poured my heart out to a woman I barely know who probably didn’t want to hear my pitiful woes.

The months passed. I cried whenever I thought about the estranged couple. Recently, while visiting my daughter in another state, she secretly slipped her engagement ring, nestled in its fancy box, into my purse. I brought the ring home. It sat on my dresser for a few weeks. I had to find the courage to let go.

Today, I contacted the young man I had once truly thought would become my son-in-law. I offered to deliver the ring to him. Instead, he came to our home. When he pulled into our driveway, I immediately recalled an evening five years ago when this nervous teenager arrived in that very same vehicle to take our daughter on their first date.

No longer a teenager, the gracious young man sat and visited for a while. Our dog and our parrot were thrilled to see their friend. Not only are we fond of him, our beloved pets adore this fine young man, as well.

I kindly asked the young man we’ve grown to admire and respect to keep in touch, and we promised to stay in touch with him. After a while, he left with the ring--and part of my heart.

Room to Sew

Long time—no post, huh? Life gets in the way. Anyway, I recently rearranged my sewing room to be much more efficient. I moved out a large armoire to make room for my 1913 Singer “red eye” treadle sewing machine.



My trusty golden retriever, Chloe, manages to eke out a space to curl up whenever I am working in my sewing room. Most of the time, however, Chloe chooses a spot where I need to stand or sit. Poor Chloe.

While flipping through a 1960s issue of “Look” magazine, I spotted an ad for one of my vintage Singer sewing machines, which is a “Model 401.” I framed this ad and added it to my display of beloved collected items.





I am enjoying my corner desk and wall unit. These pieces had been part of my daughter’s bedroom furniture. She didn’t need this desk unit any longer since has moved to a place of her own.



I am hopeful that my newly organized space will inspire me to be more productive. I shouldn't have any excuses for not sewing anymore!

Eva's Sampler

A couple of weeks ago, I stopped at an estate sale. The woman who had lived in the home enjoyed many types of needlecrafts as a hobby. Her name is Eva, and she produced perfectly stitched pieces. I bought one of her crocheted afghans and a set of stitched Christmas-themed placements that look as perfect on the reverse side as they do on the front.

My favorite find is a sampler. Eva stitched this piece onto unbleached weaver's cloth. The sampler's theme is "All the earth is full of God's glory." A tree of life sits squarely on the bottom and is surrounded by leaves stitched in autumn colors. Next comes a row houses and then four birds. Birds are near and dear to my heart. My husband and I have shared our home with birds for 28 years. Other motifs are snowflakes. They remind me of my mother because she'd always say, "God never made two snowflakes alike." True to my mom's word, Eva stitch each snowflake in a different design.

I will treasure Eva's sampler always. When it's time to sell items from my meager estate, I hope someone who loves Eva's sampler as much as I do comes along.

The Homeliest Lamp

A while back, I went to yard sale. I was still recovering from thyroid surgery, and even after a month, my vocal chords had not healed. I was becoming concerned, but there was nothing I could do about it. Since I couldn't speak, I hung my head low hoping no one would speak to me. As I browsed, one of the two elderly sisters who hosted the yard sale approached. I was holding a homely lamp that I had picked up to examine. The woman began telling me the history of this lamp and how she had chosen it years ago to complement her daughter's bedroom decor.

After the woman finished telling me about the lamp, she lifted her hand, extended her index finger, and touched her neck. As she ran her finger along her own thyroid scar, she asked about my fresh scar. I whispered that I could not talk. She told me not to worry because her voice had returned exactly six weeks after her surgery. Her words gave me comfort, and by this time I had bonded with this woman's lamp.

I brought the lamp home with plans to make it over, but when I walked into my house with that lamp, my family laughed at me. "That's the ugliest lamp I have ever seen," my daughter announced. Even my husband rolled his eyes, and I know he wondered what I would ever do with that tacky lamp. I couldn't protest vocally, so I went to work on my makeover. I spray-painted the lamp's base black. I removed the outdated rattan and fabric from the shade form, and then I sewed a new shade and slip-stitched it onto the frame. I chose black-and-white toile for the new shade to complement the lamp's shiny black base. Black gimp trim added a decorator's touch to the hand-sewn shade.

After my homely lamp received its extreme makeover, my family was very impressed. More than once I heard members of my family say, "I never would have believed it is the same lamp." How they had changed their tunes! Looks like I had the "last word" even though I still couldn't speak!

At last, though, just as the woman at the yard sale had promised, my voice returned! And it happened exactly six weeks after my surgery.

The Lamp "Before"



The Lamp "After"

Meet Will, made by Will-George

Today, I stopped by an estate sale because remaining items were half-price. I picked up a few items I knew friends would like, and then I shopped for myself. In a detached garage, I rifled through a pile of dusty items in a basket and unearthed a lovely diminutive glass pitcher, hand-blown in West Virginia. The man in charge determined that I owed him a quarter for it. Back inside, I lucked upon a choice, off-white ironstone pitcher to add to my growing collection. It was one whole dollar.

Standing in line to pay, I enjoyed visiting with other shoppers who had their arms wrapped around bundles of treasures, which had belonged to someone else just a few weeks before. While I waited, I spotted a lone flamingo figurine. A length of masking tape affixed to its body boasted that the piece was valued at $2, and now it could be had for only $1. I told the man behind me that I would return shortly as I waltzed a few steps from the checkout line and plucked the adorably kitschy flamingo off a table brimming with mismatched punch glasses.

After I came home, I examined my flamingo and discovered that it was marked “Will George” on the bottom. A little Internet research made me realize that I’d found a true treasure. I am not sure I’d be likely to sell my piece for this much, however. (click here) Anyway, I named my flamingo “Will” (sorry George). I think Will is a handsome addition to my décor, and he adores sunning himself beneath my vintage lamp. After reading the history of the Will-George Pottery Company, I think Charlie McCarthy would heartily agree with me.

The History of the Will-George Pottery Company (In My Own Words)

The Will-George Company, founded in 1934 by brothers William and George Climes, initially operated from William Climes’ garage in Los Angeles. Will and George manufactured premium porcelain and earthenware. Renowned actor Edgar Bergen became infatuated with Will-George art pieces in the late 1930s. Bergen’s financial investment in the business allowed the brothers to expand and move to a larger facility in Pasadena.

After the move, Will and George produced an extensive line of art pottery, including popular bird and animal figurines, as well as a line of human figurines similar to those created by Royal Doulton. After World War II, the brothers ended their partnership with Bergen and moved to a larger plant in San Gabriel. They renamed their company “The Claysmiths” but continued to mark their pottery “Will-George.”

Like most California pottery companies, Will-George suffered after the influx of cheap imports during the 1950s. William and George liquidated their business in 1956. Will Climes designed for Hagen-Renaker until his death in 1960. George Climes worked with Redondo Tile Company of Torrance through the 1950s and was a lab technician for Gladding-McBean until his death in 1966.

Will Enjoys Fifteen Minutes of Fame