A Thimble Full of Memories

It was most interesting listening to guest speaker, Hazel Edwards, Authorpreneur. One of the things that she emphasised was the need for writers to write everyday. This was not the first time I had heard such advice. Our lecturer for Writing Short Fiction has on more than one occasion stressed the need to write on a regular basis. Hazel Edwards suggested that we should write at least half a page every day as a warm up. She gave John Steinbeck as an example. Steinbeck's habit was to write a letter to his editor as a warm up exercise. I'm not sure if he did it on a daily basis but he has written quite a few letters more than enough to fill a book, Steinbeck: A Life in Letters, by Elaine Steinbeck and Robert Wallsten (editors).

       The idea appeals, but having no editor I have decided that as my warm up exercise, I shall write about the objects in my home. Since I am an avid collector, I am confident that I have enough objects to get me through the next few years of my writing course.

       Today's objects are two thimbles (see photo). They belonged to my mother who was a dressmaker. She learnt her craft as a young girl in Greece. When she and my father migrated to Australia she brought her loom with her. There was no room for the loom in the one bedroom cottage, which was our first home, so she focused instead on sewing. We were too poor to afford a machine so everything was done by hand.

       The thimble on the right is made of brass and is around sixty years old. The one on the left is a souvenir from Perth. I have no idea how she procured it for, having arrived in Collingwood back in 1956, she never once set foot outside of Melbourne. I think most likely she found it in the Op shop across the road. My mother was very unworldly and probably had no idea that the thimble was for decoration purposes only. It brings a smile to my face when I picture her trying to use it and complaining about the stupidity of the design.

       I keep the two thimbles in the 1930s glass cabinet that was once used to display her 'good things'. The brass thimble is discoloured by a patina, which is a fancy word for a build up of grime. A few years ago I was a tempted to clean it but realised that the grime was the result of her lifetime's work. I’m glad I didn’t clean it, for now, whenever I hold the thimble, it makes me feel closer to her. 
                                                              *****
Interesting, indeed. As a warm up exercise, I think this works quite well. Thank you, Hazel Edwards.