I began smoking cigarettes when I was fifteen. It seemed like the sophisticated thing to do. Lord knows, I wanted to fit in. It soon became a habit. I would hunt for my glasses so I could find my cigarettes. I was noted for searching through the ashtray, sorting out the longest cigarette butts. It was hell to run out of cigarettes. We were living on Lee Road east of Michigan Center, Michigan. Extra money was hard to come by, trying to build our house. Every spare cent went into buying materials. Almost every cent, that is.

I desperately needed a sewing machine. I had been using Pug mother’s very old treadle Singer for several years. I was yearning for a new electric model. But where to get the money? We didn’t charge things. There was always a danger we couldn’t continue the payments. Everything had to be cash only.

Several years previously I had been in the hospital with a surgical procedure and quit smoking. I came home all fired up to really stop smoking for good. It was not to be. My husband would sit across the table and blow smoke in my face. My resolution went up in smoke. It would be years before I tried again.

My thirtieth birthday was “D” day. I had a goal in mind this time. I would soon be able to afford that pretty Kenmore electric sewing machine down at Sears. This time quitting would work. I really would stop smoking. My last cigarette was at my brother Russ’ place near North Adams, Michigan. That was it! Now all I had to do was go home and climb the walls for a week and I did. When you have a goal, things seem to fall in place. I quit cigarettes and bought my precious Kenmore electric sewing machine.

For many years I would snuff the air whenever someone lit up. “My, that smells good!” But I didn’t light up. I am in my mid-nineties now and cigarette smoke stinks. Automobiles with cigarette residue stink. Houses with a smoker stink. I can even smell a smoker walking by.

If I had continued smoking, I wouldn’t be approaching my ninety-fifth birthday. I would be like my Dad and Mother, a distant memory. I have had several sewing machines since that faithful day, January 11, 1958.

“Oh, you can light up. I am leaving now.”