What I'd give for an industrial.

My curiosity was peaked about four years ago when I ran across a beautiful old White brand sewing machine at a thrift store. It was that lovely mid-century metallic turquoise-blue color.  At that point I hadn't seen a sewing machine in years (much less a metal one) and didn't know much on the subject.  But it was so charming in it's little foldaway cabinet, that I brought it home.  I hauled it into our little one bedroom apartment and plunked it down in the middle of the living room.  I cleaned it up, plugged it in, and figured out how to thread it.  And then I got bored.  After all, it only went forwards and backwards! Much less, I had nothing to sew. So, it sat around for awhile and was eventually returned to it's home, the thrift store.  

I had forgotten all about it until recently.  And why should I remember it now?  Because now I DO have something to sew, and all I want is that damn machine back (well, and an industrial).  Having had the opportunity to work on industrials, it has occurred to me that despite what I always thought to be true, I am actually exiting the dark side.  I know that there is a bright future ahead where I may own 25 machines that each serve a single function very well. Sure, my home machine does all the fancy tricks like buttonholes, zigzags, and blind hems, but very poorly. At any rate, it's just not doing the trick. When I  attempt to sew something rigid, the presser bar flies around causing the stitch length and the tension to vary, and sometimes the needle to break. This simply cannot be stood for! So what did I do? I bought another thrift store machine just like the one I foolishly got rid of. It goes forward and it goes backward.  Oh, and it winds my bobbin for me while I sew. It's the closest to an industrial I can get, so I love it.  Not only is it beautiful like a '56 Chevy, but it probably weighs as much too.