Tiny Bits of Fancy

I keep a stash of candy and gifts in my bottom drawer. I have small bags of M&M’s (both peanut, and plain) and chocolate bars, like Aero and Kit Kats. I’ve got chocolates. And salted caramels. And chocolates-filled-with-salted-caramel. And sometimes I have Swedish Fish but more often Swedish Berries (they taste the same) and I always have some vines of red liquorice around for one friend in particular, because they’re her favourite.

Sometimes I also have some little finds, like wool socks from Italy, or some fancy scissors. They find their homes on the days they need to – maybe on a birthday. Or on a Wednesday, just because. Here friend – have a tiny bit of fancy.

I love giving tiny gifts.

I have a little candle, special for the task of melting sealing wax by the spoonful. I love the way it smells. I have red beads of the stuff, as well as the type that looks like a little candle itself, with a wick you can light while you tilt the wax stick forward and back to drip drip drip onto the paper, or more likely to the back of an envelope as a way to seal in all the love and good wishes intended within, to someone beloved indeed, because why else would anyone set something aflame near paper with such time and care, if not for the sole purpose of delighting the other?

Truth be told, I do it to delight myself, too. And there’s always a satisfying love-response, by way of a big smile or a squeal or a hug, which is probably addictive in and of itself, but addictiveness doesn’t make something automatically bad. And I’ve always wanted to be this way – a sensual giver of tiny things – I’ve been learning the practice my whole life.

. . .

When I was small, after visiting my elderly neighbours, Mrs. Goldring, and her husband Alex who lived down the hall from us, she would call me with a crooked finger to her office, where she had a drawer-full of wrapped sweets.

A drawer! Just for candy!! I’d never seen such a thing and I was amazed by it’s very existence.

She’d giggle as she palmed-off a too-spicy cello-wrapped mint, or a Jordan almond into my hand before I went home. She had sugary gumdrops in there too, but sometimes she had Werther’s Originals, which were my favourite. She’d do it conspiratorially, like it was a secret, but to anyone else in the room, it would have looked like the world’s worst slight-of-hand trick… but she was completely magical to me. She was the oldest person I was close to when I was five years old. She would have been in her early seventies.

They both were – she and Alex – in their seventies, and magical. They’re the reason I wanted to grow up to be Jewish when I was little. They were the first Old People I was close to in any way, and I loved them both so much.

She was from Minsk, she’d always remind me with a twinkle. Without fail, she always gave me a warm feeling in my heart, and I wanted to be magical like that, too.

. . .

When I was in my early twenties, I leaned in pretty hard when Martha Stewart was suddenly everywhere, showing the world how to make home, and make weddings, and make babies… it was all artichokes and chicken coops and gift-wrapping rooms. All you needed was some kraft paper and some raffia. And scissors. And sealing wax, of course. I learned how to break off a bit of that world, one fancy hole-punch at a time.

I now have an array of tissue paper arranged by colour, and beautiful washi tape, and sparkly tape, and some with ridiculously cute llamas on it, and I realised a long time ago, I have trouble resisting stationery supplies. I love paper. I need to write down how much I adore you with this glitter pen right now.

I have a wonderful artist friend called Alayne who had a whole gift cubbie in her house, and I found this to be amazing at the time. Back in the days before we had children, and when we used to live in the same city, we’d go after-Christmas sales-shopping at Holt Renfrew and Ogilvy’s and pick up all kinds of holiday baubles and trimmings for a fraction of the original price, as well as gift wrapping and such. I’d notice how she’d buy three sets of beautiful taper candles, or hand soaps made in Scotland, or fancy cookies from London. Little things. Lovely things that make you gasp, and when your eyes fall upon them, they go round and you say, Ooohhhh… and you look more closely, and touch the thing to see if it’s smooth, or sniff inside the lid… Does it really smell like persimmons? Ohhh, I want one…

She’d buy all these tiny items, inexpensive now compared to what they were, and hoard them into a cabinet she had in her beautiful, artful house, and so anytime she needed a giftette for someone, she could grab something from the stash, and wrap it up in pleasant ways, with pretty paper and ribbon she already owned expressly for this purpose.

Gift cubbie. Stash drawers. I felt dumb for not knowing sooner. I felt satisfaction glow within me as I cottoned onto what would be my whole way of life, sustained.

I didn’t know this was something people in their mid-to-late-twenties even did. I had no idea. I thought this was maybe an old-person thing – only old people and Bubbies gave other people candy outside of Halloween, or gifts outside of birthdays, surely. (Or, you had to be rich somehow.)

My friend is great at giving gifts. Surprise gifts, especially. The ones for no particular reason. I still have a box with every card or piece of paper she’s ever put her hand to, or given me – not because I’m so especially sentimental – but because the box itself, labeled with her name on the outside, reminds me how tiny bits of fancy makes a person feel: delighted and cherished.

I spent more money on postage last year than I ever have before. Pandemic Times meant for a lot of adoring. To make ordinary things appear a less ordinary is really an artful version of a slight-of-hand trick, but making someone else feel delighted or cherished keeps me filled for ages.

I don’t know if there’s anything better, really.