My Bertha

Jan 11, 2017 by tlmiller

I like the idea of Bertha, which Bee Bonchay describes as “a set of beliefs or a force greater than yourself that you have absolute faith and trust in…” and “finding your Bertha becomes your beacon, your symbol of hope…your strength when you feel weak.”

I found my Bertha, what has become my own personal symbol of hope, about eight years ago when I first put my hands on a long arm sewing machine; the way I felt resonated through my entire body.  All these years later I still dream of that moment, of what feels like ballet, poetry and a sense of wonder all rolled into one.  I fell in love with the glide of the machine across fabric and the way my body felt when I was one with that movement, swaying and swooping, guiding the machine in the most basic stippling pattern, laying the stitches and watching my hands create.  I have spent hours dreaming, reliving my time quilting with a long arm.  My body remembers the magic and it makes my heart ache.

Through the years I’ve continued to piece quilt tops and quilt them on my domestic machine while I watched Craig’s List, looking for a used machine, something that wouldn’t cost too much.  That wouldn’t be too big for the basement of the house I lived in at the time.  That I wouldn’t have to defend as just more clutter in an already crowded space.  I was looking for a compromise I could live with, something between what I wanted, and what I could make work.  I didn’t find what I was looking for.  Turns out, I wasn’t willing to compromise on my Bertha.

I have never given up on having a long arm.   Dreams exist for a reason.  They are the belief that someday will materalize.  The promise of possibiity.  For me, a Handi Quilter Avante is my own personal Bertha, which barring any more weather delays, will reside in my basement this Friday.  The unfinished basement where I live now is perfect for this long arm and its 12’ frame.   The long arm will be delivered, set up, leveled, and basic instruction on how to get this particular long arm up and functional will commence.  On Friday.  The day after tomorrow.  I know there will be a learning curve.  How can there not be?  We will get to know one another; learn each other’s quirks and I’m sure try each others’ patience.  Even with all that, I am eager to get started.  To feel the magic again.  I am, in fact, giddy with excitement.   Friday.  I can’t wait.

For now, my long arm doesn’t have a name as we haven’t yet met.   It is enough to know that this long arm is the Bertha in my life; my reminder that I am strong, that I have joy and a purpose in life that is mine to explore.  My reminder that life is good.  My Bertha is the realization of a dream that for the longest time was only a someday.  Someday in the future.  Someday when there was more time, more money, more space.  Someday.

Whatever its name turns out to be, my Bertha is a long arm sewing machine; a physical, tangible reminder that in this life hope is always present.  Which is just how it should be.

TM

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