My family was awaiting the birth of our second child, taking her own sweet time as her due date came and went. The baby clothes were sorted, the furniture arranged, the meals cooked and my mother-in-law, Vickie, was on hand. It was the calm before the storm, and all we could do is wait.

Knowing I wasn't going to sail much this season with a new baby in the house, I resolved to focus on some boat projects I have put off for years. At the top of my list was learning to sew, a skill that opens up all kinds of possibilities for a sailor looking to upgrade his boat. Covers, cushions, dodgers and even sails might be in reach.

My early forays into the art did not go well. Years ago, I tried to sew plastic zippers into vinyl cockpit cushions, an effort that resulted in uneven stitching, broken needles and bunched thread. One of my sailing buddies, trying to put a positive spin on things, noted, " you never really see the zippers anyway."

This time, however, I had a block of time to concentrate – at least until the baby arrived – and a private tutor living in the spare room. I was optimistic.

THE VINTAGE SINGER

Adam GonzalezVintage sewing machines like the one pictured here, which belonged to the author's mother, can work well if they are kept in good condition.

Adam Gonzalez

The goal was to update and color-match the canvas on the boat, including winch covers, lifeline cushion covers and maybe a tiller cover. I had recently salvaged a bimini frame from a boat graveyard and had a forest green cover made for it at a local canvas shop, figuring I wasn't ready to do such a big job myself. I later went back to the shop for some scraps of matching canvas to play with. For $40 they gave me a huge pile of remnants and a hefty sized spool of thread, so I had plenty of material.

Like many before me, I have drooled over those Sailrite sewing machines that cost hundreds of dollars and can shoot thread through eight layers of canvas. But with price very much an object, I hauled out my mom's 60s-era Singer. I knew Vickie could give me a few pointers on how to use it. I also knew it was a well-worn path. Many sailors look to older sewing machines, with their larger motors and metal casings, as a cheap and reliable alternative to expensive new equipment.

Besides, I like vintage. My house is mid-century modern, almost 50 years old; my sailboat Mystique is a 1966 Islander 29; and I liked cars when they had fins. It's debatable whether times were simpler, but certainly machines were simpler, which means someone like me might actually be able to troubleshoot, fix and use them (provided I can get parts). My abilities pale in comparison to those of my father, who was a master of keeping anything going long past its dumpster due-date. Since his passing in December, I was feeling a little uninspired, so having a few moments to glean some sewing machine savvy from my mother-in-law seemed like a good idea.

The owner's manual for the Singer had long since been lost, but being a guy I knew it was good and proper to stumble around and try to figure things out by trial and error. The machine itself has a cast aluminum chassis and a body painted tan and cream, with no model number in sight. All the frames, shafts and gears are metal, with a pretty heavy-duty motor. The machine had been gathering dust in a downstairs cupboard since my last attempt at sewing, and Vickie's brow grew a bit stitched when I pulled the machine out of its hiding place. "Oooh, I don't know about this machine," she said in her Italian accent. I knew we were going to have fun.