As I was making the bed the other day, I was stripping off the sheets and quilt, pulling fresh ones from the blanket chest, and contemplating our interconnectedness with the past. In my case, making the bed forms this bridge for me on purpose. I chose to buy a pair of blanket chests in a moving sale from a little old lady who had bought them in Vermont, moved them to Ohio, and then didn’t want to move them again. Now they are in my house, and one of them is at the foot of my bed with a lovely purple cushion that makes it a comfortable spot to sit and put on shoes. She made that cushion herself. When I move it, and pull the quilt out of the chest, I smile and think of the loving work put into these objects. My mother-in-law made the quilt, sewing love into it before giving it to her son and I to sleep under. It’s a mixture of old, new, and the connection is ultimately very practical.
The old wooden chests, built over a hundred years ago, the cushion sewn a few decades ago, the quilt that was among the last my Mother-in-Law made before her health stopped her work in that, the brand-new sheets with their microfiber softness… it’s a thread drawn through generations of unspoken affection. Warmth, comfort, practical things may not look like art, but they feed the soul nonetheless. It’s not that you can’t be just as happy with nothing handmade in your life, or everything bright new and modern. Certainly you could. I wouldn’t be as happy with it… but that’s me. We all come at this from different directions.
I love to make gifts for friends and family. I’m working on a couple of little projects now, because I felt moved to do so. It’s not obligation, or… ok, one of them will be for Christmas. Or not, if I can’t wait that long to see their reaction to what I’ve made. It has taken me some time to get comfortable again with giving handmade gifts. There was a point in my past when someone shut that down every time I tried to do it, telling me it was ‘tacky’ and ‘makes us look cheap’ so the preference was to spend money on something that was new, but less personal.
But is it really ‘cheap’ to spend hours in design, execution, and presentation of a handmade gift? I don’t think so. I may be wrong. I know that the culture of the person who objected to my doing this was very different from my upbringing. A disposable culture where it’s all about keeping up with the Joneses and putting on a façade of wealth or at least prosperity is… different. My old blanket chests and quilts and the lightly-worn cushion would undoubtedly get a snub from that cultural background. Making Christmas baskets of baked goods, fudge, and jam jars would be viewed as painfully quaint, I’m sure. I miss those, though. Hours spent in the kitchen with the children, then the joy of taking baskets full of goodies around to everyone. I can’t do that any longer, but I can still put my love into my hands and create. Which is the difference that transforms a handmade gift from ‘oh, she can’t afford better’ to ‘wow, this took time, and effort, so much more loving than a one-click drop-shipment from Amazon.’
There’s a reason my windowsill I look at every day over the kitchen sink is adorned with a few very special items my children have made for me. I have a little display of dragons they have bought for me, and I love them and use them at times as models when I’m drawing art. But it’s the art they made that I want to see, for the memories and the way it makes me smile every day. It’s not just the cuteness, it’s the love. Like the quilt wrapping us up in warmth and affection, but tiny. Tiny invisible hugs, every time I look at these handmade gifts. That’s exactly what I want to give my friends and family. It might take the form of a drawing, a dragon, a baked goodie… but it’s a hug. Happiness comes in many shapes and sizes.
I could have an all-new bedroom set. But I like the history of love and handwork in my antique furniture and handmade quilts. It makes me feel connected to women who came before me, who felt like me that the work of their hands was a labor of love. It’s never been about opening the purse and pulling out money. It has been about the skills and time and work involved in creating a practical expression of love.
Comments
7 responses to “Tiny invisible hugs”
Lovely!!
I learned to bake cookies because it was less expensive than supplying the Green Room at Loscon from a bakery.
Somehow, people never seem to think my homemade cookies are “tacky”.
Even the lavender thumbprint with the rose petal preserves that never quite dry out.
Those sound very elegant!
Another thumbprint I’ve done is almond flavored with salted dulce de leche (canned, since I live in Southern California and don’t have to boil the can of sweetened condensed milk myself.
23 skidoo – Do the handloaded custom 300 Blackout subsonic cartridges I give as gifts count?
Tiny danger hugs! Lol
Hey! Rifles gotta eat too.