Finding needles in foreign haystacks

Running out of thread

“Blubbering Bloodsuckers! There's no cream thread! And I have way too few pins. Why did I chuck all of that stuff into the shipping container?” She stormed down the stairs, waving around a single roll of white thread, a bobbin with what I hoped was the same colour, and a box of pins.

She eventually calmed down. “Right, Nirbe. I'm gonna shorten these guys in situ. I've figured it all out. You're going onto a bar stool and we're going to shuffle along and sew as we go. Ready?”

Queen Kami plucked me off my stable kitchen island and set me up on a barstool. Hubby, who had developed a mild form of tennis elbow from all his Ikea furniture assembling, had rustled up the wooden stool the day before, before the worst pain set in. It felt seriously wobbly up there, let me tell you.

Then, my queen disappeared for a few minutes, and when I saw her again, she was wielding a blade.

No, no, no! Not more blood, please! She'd already left her mark on my body. I really didn't want that kind of trauma on my first day in my new Heimat.

I was still thinking about what could go wrong when I saw her grab the end of my power cable and whip off the plug with that blade of hers. WHAT? Well, at least there was no blood.

In two ticks, she'd separated the wires inside the power cable (using that same blade) and grabbed hubby's screwdriver, which he'd left on the counter after assembling his barstools the previous day. (Hubby is not great at putting stuff away). Then I heard Hubby mumbling something in the background.

“Honey, let me do that for you. These plugs are way more complicated than the ones back home.”

Queen Kami ignored him and painstakingly maneuvered the little wires into the not-yet-familiar plug.

Hubby urgently needed to go somewhere, fleeing the battle scene, I'm sure. He drove off.

When Queen Kami eventually plugged her Euro plug into the extension lead (Thank heavens Hubby had also bought that before our arrival), she switched on my little light. I prayed for success, believe me, I prayed hard. I needed my Queen to stay calm. Let there be light. That's what I prayed.

Nope. No light.

She took hold of the little bulb, and fiddled and tightened and loosened and cursed.

“Flippety flip. I don't believe this.” Then, she stepped on my pedal. And Whrr. My needle jumped up and down (into and out of the filthy little fabric scrap that was supposed to protect the needle while I traveled, apparently).

Well, we now had a different problem. There was, of course, no spare lightbulb in her royal Kamikazeness' big suitcase. Queen Kami would not be able to see how straight (or skew) she would be sewing those seams.

No problem. She had one of her little light bulb moments (pun intended), and rushed up to the first floor. She returned with Last-born's clip-on study lamp. This got clamped to the backrest of the barstool and plugged into that same extension lead.

What you need to know is that I'd worked up an incredible thirst by then. Now my species does not often need fluid. But, when we do, we neeed it desperately. I'd been feeling this thirst for more than a month. This move had seriously distracted Queen Kami and lubrication was the last thing on her mind.

But, man, what I would have given for a bit of grease right then.

Well, it wasn't gonna happen. So, I was destined for a painful hour or two of grinding my needle up and down. But, I put my own needs aside and decided I would do this for the good of the family.

She pinned the first curtain, then placed her left hand on top of me and dragged the wobbly barstool closer. The clip on lamp held on for dear life, and the end of the extension lead turned out to be long enough. Phew!

We got through half of that first curtain before the first needle broke. Yeah, they were thick-ish curtains. And halfway through curtain number three, she'd broken four needles, cursed me in three languages, and our white thread had run out.

Me waiting. And reminiscing

While she was out, I hung around in that empty lounge. On my wobbly bar stool. It's not like I could walk around, exploring, could I? So I meditated on things.

Oh, how I missed my siblings. They were on their way in the shipping container. I hadn't seen them for months. You see, I was the one who had to stay in the Motherland until the very last minute. Mostly because Queen Kami needed me for the most ambitious clothing project of her life — Second-Borns Matric Farewell dress (that's a prom dress for those of you who were wondering, except it's not just a pretty frock, it's a flippen next-level work of art).

That dress worked out pretty well, but Queen Kami says it was her first and last beaded, lacey, wired and whatnot couture effort. No wedding dresses for the daughters, thank you. (It's now eleven years later, and wedding dresses have not yet been required. Not from any of the three offspring. What do you know?)

Anyway, I had been doing all that advanced sewing while my full-retro metal mama and slightly more modern sisters were bobbing along the Atlantic towards Northern Europe. We expected them any day, so I couldn't wait to see where Queen Kami would set us all up. Her basement studio would later turn out to be a perfectly acceptable (messy) hangout for the four of us. Yes, she was the proud owner of four fabric transformation devices — actually five if you included my brother, the overlocker. But you'll hear all about my adoptive family later. The point is, I was missing them.

I must have gone into sleep mode right about then, because the next thing I heard was the Queen of Kamikaze Crafters storming back into the house.

She ranted and raved about stopping at two shops that no longer existed and getting thread that was way too thin at a third place, which turned out to be a tailor's shop. Then, on Herr Schneider's recommendation, she found this cool craft mecca, where she got the needles.

“Oh, and then I saw the oil on the counter, and I got one of those.”

Ta-dah! She popped the lid and brought that life-saving bottle closer.

Hallelujah! Lubrication!

She pulled out my bobbin casing and drip-fed my parched joints. If I'd had lips, I would've licked them.

Of course, there was no lightbulb. She must have worked through that self-chastisement on the U-bahn, because she was the picture of self-control when she clicked on Lastborn's lamp.

Of course, there was no lightbulb. She must have worked through her self-chastisement on the U-bahn, because she was the picture of self-control when she clicked on Lastborn's lamp.

The too-thin thread felt weird. It tickled my tension plates and made a spectacular tangle of the bottom thread. The Queen's composure crumbled, and she gave one almighty kick. The barstool wobbled. I started toppling. She deftly caught me — with the hand that wasn't massaging her injured toe. Then we had some tension-fiddling time. A little bit at the top, then some at the bottom. A bit of test stitching. And repeat. About twenty times.

“Stupid thread! Why did I buy from that smooth-talking tailor dude? The craft shop had much better stuff.”

Eventually, the stitches looked vaguely acceptable. One hour, three needles and forty curses later, the curtains were done.

By the time Lastborn and Hubby stormed into the house, Queen Kami's curtains were no longer dragging through the non-red dust (This German dust was really Mickey Mouse compared to the African variety.)

Lastborn gave me a comradely pat. “Aw, Nirbe, working on your first day. What a shame!”

Then she turned to Queen Kami. “Hey Mom, when is your craft room gonna be ready? I need some stuff done.

That was how I spent my first day in my new German abode. Next time, I'll introduce you to my family.