“I remember the whirr and whine of her black Singer,the gold traceries on the cast iron rodby the wheel that lifted and lowered the needle.Threading, eyepieces, winding the turquoise stringthrough hooks, around miniscule wheels, up and down,her {{w|Ariadne}} hands clever in labyrinths, ...the needle racing through gingham, poplin, seersucker, cambric,the pedal pressed heavily down with the weight of one woman,eye intent, hands feeding and receiving the fabric.”