This is my Christmas stocking. My Grandma Harman made one for all of us grandkids as each of us were born. It is made from flannel and she wrote my name on the cuff. Then she put two tiny bells on the edge. She said the bells were to alert us when they rang as Santa was filling them up. My two sisters each have one exactly like it, except she put the bells in different places. I don’t remember ever really believing in Santa, I probably did, but I do remember that every Christmas morning, the socks were full. We used to hang them on the mantel when we lived in the house that had a fireplace, but when we moved, we didn’t have a fireplace for Santa to come down, so we just left them by the tree. Our socks were always what we looked at first. We were busy emptying them while Mom and Dad were getting up and about, getting out the camera and all that, not really sure, since I was too busy looking at what was inside my stocking. It was always so much fun to discover what was inside. We got all kinds of little treasures. A ball and jacks, tiny games, little books, colors, water paints, jewelry, chocolate wrapped in foil to look like money, lots of little things. The toe always held a can of play dough or an orange. Isn’t it strange, how I can remember all those little sock fillers, but the ‘real’ presents I got don’t just come to mind (well, except for my Barbie dolls and all those clothes my Mom made for them). It kinda makes you evaluate the whole gift giving thing doesn’t it?