A Stocking Stuffer with Sentiment

I have many fond memories of my grandfather. I was fortunate that my grandparents lived with us, and were my main caregivers when my parents were at work. There was plenty a day that I spent with my grandfather, walking to the candy store, watching television, picking green beans from the garden.

My grandfather was born in 1913 in China. Before immigrating to Malaysia as a young adult, he was a nurse in the war. Being born during that time, and with war, my grandfather learned many a useful skill. One that he passed on to me and that I cherish. My grandfather had a small hand sewing kit he kept in an old glass peanut bar jar with a green metal lid. How novel that peanut butter used to be sold in glass jars!  In the jar were a few hand sewing needles, threads wound on wooden spools, folding scissors and a few stray buttons. I don’t recall when, or how, but I know one day we sat down on his bed and he showed me how to thread a needle, then lick my fingers and rub the ends of the thread in between by thumb and finger and then pull, in order to create a knot at the end of the thread. This has been such an invaluable lesson for me. I’ve sewn many a loose button, small hole in a sweater, even hemmed some pants in this way, but mostly it has been an invaluable lesson since it is a skill my grandfather taught me. It’s a little piece of him that stays with me, especially now that he has passed five years ago.

When he died, I got to keep his little hand sewing kit in the glass peanut butter jar. I keep it in the west window, with a sepia colored photo of him on his wedding day. I often look at this jar and am reminded of him.

The other day I was browsing on line for stocking stuffer ideas for my sister and brother. (Yes I have a tendency to do my Christmas shopping early) I came across a vintage sewing kit in a vintage mason jar. A light bulb blinked brightly over my head. Not only is a hand sewing kit useful, but I knew my brother and sister would appreciate its sentimental value.

I decided to make my own hand sewing kits for each my brother and sister. I took a quick trip to the drugstore to pick up a cloth measuring tape, spools of thread, quilting pins, safety pins and hand sewing needles. I placed these items into mason jars I had left over from jams and spreads, and included a copy of the sepia colored photo I had in my own sewing kit from my grandfather. I also dropped in a few loose items from my grandfather's sewing kit to add to the sentiment -- a few of my grandfather's loose buttons for my brother, and an extra pair of mini folding scissors in a cardboard box my grandfather had, for my sister. I used some scrap decorative wrapping paper to cover the mason jar lids, and voila, a stocking stuffer that was not only beautiful, but sentimental and useful.

Hi. My name is Bridget, and I am a writer.

A friend recently told me that in looking to find one’s true life’s work, to look at your childhood and what you enjoyed doing. My brother, as a child, would draw pictures of houses, over and over again. We all thought he would be an architect, and he has now decided to pursue that area of study. But for many years, right after high school and throughout University, he denounced this career path.

As a child, I always thought I would be writer. My teachers and classmates thought the same. Writing always came naturally to me and this was evident in my short stories, my essays, my poems.  And unlike my brother, I chose an area of study in line with writing – a degree in Communications with aspirations to become a journalist, but I strayed. I decided I wasn’t a good enough writer or lover of current affairs to be a good journalist, and looking for a more stable career, I chose to pursue Public Relations instead. In the end, after a short stint in Corporate Communications, I found myself diving head first into career so far from my childhood aspirations. 

I’m still in that career, and will continue in it. It’s not a job I love, but I find it stimulating, I enjoy it, and it lets me do the things that I do love. But, lately over the past couple of years, I have wondered if I stopped writing prematurely. 

Today, I read a four part series on writing and motherhood, authored by a writer friend of mine.  In the second series, she writes that for her, the “Journey to Writing” had three stages. 

       1. Getting over the fear of people reading what she wrote. 

       2. Defining herself as a writer. 

       3. Writing for pay, and only pay. 

If you are reading this, you know that I have taken her advice, at least with stage number one. As for stage number two, I’m not ready to call myself a writer yet, but the plan is to be able to introduce myself as such one day, with stage number three following soon after.