I haven't yet chosen my tatoo. But I have tagged my sewing machine.
I've never tagged anything before [internal pause to check to see if I'm actually telling the truth. Yep. It's the truth--not even a bathroom wall, I don't think. Yeesh. I'm not sure I've even lived until now.]
It had to be done. I couldn't sit by and let the world use my sewing maching itself to tell me about the way that I sit down to greet my sewing machine itself.
There it is--there's Ro right there on the right. Sitting and waiting for me. It's not her fault.
Although I've already told you that I've decided not to set out to make money from sitting down to my sewing machine, I still sit with an intentionality that reeks of big important reasons for me. When I sew, it's a big deal.
It's the meat, not the potatoes or the weird bowl of re-heated corn on the dinner table that is my life. The main dish. The real deal. I don't chug over to do it; I do it so I can chug.
I don't sew as a a "treat" or a "reward" for actually having done the important things in my life. I mean--sure, I do a lot of other important things in my life [try to remember to look my children in the eye every day. Check. Etc. Etc.]--but my Making Life is all wrapped up in that middle of that stuff. It doesn't arrive somewhere after.
It's not a hobby.
And I just couldn't take it anymore, my own machine telling me that the group of people who manufactured it thought that, in fact, it is. A hobby.
It is so more than a hobby.
For you too, I know.
P.S. Who knows--this may have initiated an entire series of Life Appliance Tagging that I have not up until now deeemd necessary.
I may next add verbage to the car:
[Even though this car is really big, my husband rides his bike because we swear we care about things like chopping down too many] SEQUOIA [s].