Somewhere in the world, there used to be a picture of me with an embroidery ring on my head looking slightly Middle Eastern-ish. I was skinny and awkward wearing, I think, a dingy wife-beater t-shirt and shorts. Not the boys wife-beater, the girls version with the skinnier straps – as if that makes the fashion choice any better. I believe the picture was taken at my grandma’s house. That makes the most sense because I practically lived there and because she was the one who taught me how to embroider.

I don’t know that I was any good at it but I tried and I did finish at least one pillowcase. Now, I know she was most likely just keeping me occupied … and, quiet. Still, she was patient and showed me the forgotten stitches then left me to practice.

Later, my friend (my secret keeper) introduced me to cross-stitching. What a blast! It was so easy and immensely satisfying. Eventually, my aging eyes took the fun out of that. Because I gravitated towards the extra tiny Xes, I had to buy the magnifying glass to hang around my neck to even see the damn holes anymore. I recently pulled out a project to the add the name of our new state when we moved but I haven’t started a new project in years.

I just bought myself the embroidery stitch practice kit from Amazon. I am determined to re-learn my nana’s gift. Now, where the hell is that magnifying glass?!