I own a number of things that I inherited from my grandparents — on both sides, I suppose, but mostly from the ones I lived with growing up. And by “inherited,” I really mean these are things I picked up from their house when we went through it to prepare it for sale after my grandfather’s death in 1997.

Some of the things are big and required movers to get from their place to mine. Most of them, however, are small items — and yet, though they are a fraction of the size of a piano or dining room hutch, hold much more of my grandparents in them.

Like these . . . I guess they’re saucers? My grandmother would use them as thread scrap receptacles when she worked on an embroidery project. When she got to the end of a piece, she’d snip off the end with her gold stork scissors and put it in one of these. There wasn’t a wastebasket near her spot on the couch, so this saved time. The next time she’d get up she’d bring the collection of thread scraps with her to dispose of them.

When she taught me how to work needlepoint, and then cross stitch, and later crochet and knitting, I’d use one of these saucers for my own thread and yarn scraps. I’d come home from school and we’d sit at opposite ends of the red and white upholstered couch, watching late afternoon TV — usually a syndicated epsiode of M*A*S*H — while we worked on our projects. I know the first thing I ever made was a cross stitch of my name, in a bubbly font decorated with hearts, using purple for the letters and pink for the hearts. SO GIRLY! I don’t think I was even 10 years old yet, and I chose the colors, but I was also embarrassed by them. I think my mom still has it somewhere; next time I’m home I’ll try to get a picture — especially since I think there’s a post on its own in this little side narrative.

I’m pretty sure these objects were not meant to be used as table top disposal units, and I am positive that my grandmother used them for this purpose instead of putting a small wastebasket next to her seat on the couch because the saucers were pretty and less intrusive than a clunky trash can.

So they’re mine now, and I keep them in the kitchen, in the cupboard with the plates and glasses. I’ve used them in ways my grandmother would probably not approve — one was just used this morning as a spoon rest for my coffee stirrer. They also make fantastic soy sauce bowls for when I bring sushi home, and though she probably would not have been a sushi fan, I think my grandmother would be happy knowing that these delicate, decorative saucers also have a practical use she hadn’t foreseen.

Now that I’ve picked up embroidery again, I brought one of the saucers out from the kitchen. Even though I have a wastebasket nearby, I like how it feels to put my embroidery floss scraps in a saucer first, because it was how I first saw them used, and how I first used them. And yes, a part of me feels like I am 70 years old and should order plastic coverings for my chairs and sofa and whatever else old ladies are supposed to do. But mostly what I feel, what I’m saying is — “I remember.”

Related posts:

1. This time I mean it, there is REALLY nothing to see here.
2. It’s hopeless
3. My Grandmother’s Hats