This morning, as I got out of bed, I had to stop and think (see me, slight frown on my forehead, eyes looking upward and to the left, faraway look on my face) before I realized it was just a dream.

Tsk! Man, it was so real! I was pretty sure I had finally designed something (hah! That’s when it hit me: of course it’s a dream because if it were real, I’d know what I designed, right? Not a hazy “something”–duh :D) for my girlfriends at our playground at Jessica’s. Now that’s really dreaming, because not only have I not designed a thing at all in my life, I don’t even know how to! HAHAHA! How I wish I were half as talented as some of those great generous girls all over the web who just design and give freebie after freebie away, making so many other people happy in their small way.

But dreams do come true, and one day I will have something to “give back”, however small it may be. It’s always nice to be able to give something from the heart.

 When I was a little kid, my parents did not allow my brothers and sisters (and me!) to buy presents for them; they made it very clear to us that they preferred homemade cards or little gifts made by our own hands. As we grew up, of course it got more and more difficult to create with our hands, and soon those little crooked creations turned into store-bought items (which by then were appreciated by our dad because we had grown old enough to earn our own money).

It’s funny because when I look back now on those days, I don’t remember a single store-bought item I got for him (I can guess it had something to do with this or that, but I can’t remember the specifics). What I do remember is the little square pillow with two satin-stitched hugging monkeys, stuffed with kapok from another poor pillow that had seen better days. And I can see as clear as day the two mini-dolls I had sewn from a pair of once-white socks, made to look like my dad and my stepmom, with yarn for the hair and twisted bits of wire for glasses, and bits of cloth for their clothes, and lace thrown around the shoulders to keep them together (ahem… it was a wedding anniversary present :P). The best part about it? Rummaging through their closets many years after, I discovered both on a shelf, kept like precious mementos of a child’s love.

Have I mentioned that I probably inherited my love for scrapbooking from my father, who has always kept every single bit of “art” that his children created for him? He doesn’t know a thing about acid-free stuff or chipboard or papers… but he does know how to appreciate beauty in the ordinary, and how to preserve little moments in a tangible form… and isn’t that what scrapbooking is about? 🙂