Boxes from the Basement

December 1, 2009 at 12:36 pm Leave a comment

Boxes From the Basement

It’s that time of year when the boxes filled to overflowing with ornaments and decorations are dragged from their basement corner and brought out into the light.
But first the house has to be cleaned and dusted. Only then can the Christmas decorations come out of their boxes. It’s that ‘first’ part that always causes me to stumble. Clean? The whole house? All at the same time?
Somehow I made it happen early this year. Maybe it’s because I’ve changed a little over the years. Clean! has become clean enough.
So there I was digging into boxes, tissue paper flying, Santas and reindeer and candles and stars and stockings and wreaths all lined up and waiting for their turn to be placed just so.
And then I stopped. Just like that, I stopped. And smiled. Like I knew I would. Like I do every year.
For it is at the bottom of those boxes that the real treasures lie. It is at the bottom of those boxes that I find the 20+ year old Christmas gifts my kids have made over the years.
Red construction paper candles with a paper yellow flame.
Green construction paper trees with colored fingerprint lights.
Brown handprints, now reindeer antlers.
Green handprints, now a wreath.
Crayon colored family portraits.
Works of art.
Works of heart.
Dear Mom and Dad,
I hope your Chrismas is as speacil as mine. With all the love, laughter, fun and all the exciting things. Even if I don’t get a present from you I still have you and thats all I want. I hope you get 100 presents because that’s how speacil you are. I hope your Chrismas is always this speacil because you’ll always be speacil to me.
Merry Chrismas!     (1994)

My family always wonders why it takes so much time to decorate. I don’t try to explain that with each construction paper card read again, with each paper decoration held gently in my hands again, there is a story remembered.
The year of the bicycle.
The year of the Cabbage Patch Kids.
The year of the Pound Puppies.
The year of the Super Mario Brothers.
The year of the Barbie car …. delivered to the neighbor’s house but not ours. “Mom, why couldn’t Santa leave one here too?”
The year of the flu.
The years of the hugs and kisses and pajamas and pancakes.
All ‘speacil’, as my daughter would say.  All I want.

Boxes from the basement.  And so much more.


Entry filed under: Living Out Loud.

Not Just Surviving — Thriving The Magic of the Season

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