wishes and wants
September 3, 2011 § 1 Comment
I have simple wishes. On my birthday I wish for the company of my husband and children, the anticipation of cake, and handmade cards from my children. Predictably, each year my husband asks what I want for my birthday. I want my wishes to come true.
I love a happy surprise wrapped in a bow, but tokens of affection have little value if unaccompanied by sentiment. I want to wake up to cuddles from my children and to share an easy day of togetherness without arguments or anxiety. I want to spend each meal distracted by a sugary confection tucked away for later. Despite my love of beautiful stationery, I want to read my children’s wishes woven around art that fills the blank spaces of homemade cards.
Friends sometimes fill the day with treats, my preference is time. I have no need for gifts, I rather share a meal or conversation. Time is an indulgence, most of us too busy to sit still, but it is my favorite gift: the company of people I love and the sound of their laughter.
Inevitably someone will ask how old I am. There are those that antagonize over a number: age, weight, IQ, income. I prefer undefined anonymity. I scatter my numbers to the wind, happy to let go of such boundaries and definitions. On my birthday I am no different, I think less of the progression of time and more of sentiment. I cherish birthdays past and stay present, uhurried as I look to the future.
In the days following, someone will ask if I had a nice day or if I received everything I wanted. The answer is: most days my wishes come true, I am rich in the blessings of family and friends.
memory mosaic
July 25, 2011 § Leave a comment
What if we traded predesigned cards for letters, looked past unnecessary collectables and gathered memories in print or photographs to honor birthdays and special occasions? A year or two ago a friend celebrated her husband’s birthday in letters; blank stationery accompanied each invitation for guests to share a memory or story. A mosaic of eclectic moments from a life held together by friendship and love. Enamored by the sentimental gift of memories, I immediately longed for the pages of letters that have littered my past.
As a little girl I would connect pieces of my life from one parent’s house to another in letters. I would write friends from what felt like the other side of the world. Letters seemed to transport friends from school years past into the present tense, filling unfamiliar moments with comfort. I miss the bold careful print in brightly colored crayons and awkward loops of early script punctuated with scribbles.
In love, I created stories in letters. I would focus on the good and let pages of daydreams mark the space of young love. Too young to date, I tied my notes in heartstrings and tucked them into a young boy’s letterman jacket to keep myself in his thoughts. I wonder how close my dreams of love would reflect the life I have created.
Even now, faces from another time come to me in unexpected memories and I send a note sharing the sentiment. Tiny trinkets of gratitude, inspiration, or humor for moments from lives intersecting. I often wonder how these words are received, but mostly I find joy in the act of sharing the timeless gift of remembering.
scribblechic 