While talking with a friend recently, I stopped mid sentence to sneeze. And then sneeze again. At least four times. I laughed and said, “Someone really needs to dust this place.”
It’s January, the Christmas tree is still up, and we’ve been traveling. All perfectly good reasons that very little dusting has happened since late November. Unfortunately, my allergic aversion to those tiny particles is becoming increasingly problematic.
I really like having our home decorated and festive for the entire holiday season. I spend days getting everything out and placing the décor just so in each room of the house, so I’m never in a hurry to take it all down and pack it away once Christmas has passed. This year, I’ve left it up longer than usual. Adopting this new mindset that we can linger a little longer, enjoy a few extra moments, and resist rushing into the next plan has given me a sweet opportunity to reflect and remember.
I remembered the day my mom asked me to choose pieces from her tree. She had decided to downsize and no longer needed all the decorations. It was a tender day of helping her adjust, decorating with the things she wanted to keep, and dividing the rest between my three sisters and me.
I lingered for another moment on the ornaments purchased for my children when they were born and those given to us as wedding gifts. And the white porcelain bird that clips onto a branch and, nearly five decades later, still rests near the top of the tree. A small wooden candle holder with a Santa skiing between two candles. Carved and painted Santas each of our fathers made for us. So many beautiful pieces. So many memories. All of them precious.
Our grandchildren are now old enough to begin appreciating these items, things made or given to us that are part of their own heritage and legacy. So instead of tucking everything back into storage bins, I chose a few items and made small boxes for each child.
None of these things hold any real intrinsic value, so it isn’t about the thing itself. It’s about the quiet understanding of family, where they come from, what their great-grandparents and grandparents believed to be true, and the moral compass they tried to live by. What these items hold are stories ~ stories of people who dreamed of these children and prayed for them, even if they left this earth before the children were born. Each piece carries a history and a story that now belongs to them.
At their ages, they will appreciate receiving the ornaments and Santas right away. It will take a few more years before they fully grasp that who they are is shaped by those who came before them.
My prayer is that these small gifts give them a sense of being a part of something bigger than themselves, and that they learn to appreciate both the beauty and fragility of each item. Some pieces may one day make it into their own homes. Some may break and be tossed away. But for the ones that survive, unwrapped year after year, I hope they are enjoyed and bring back memories of past Christmases and the people who shared those days with them.
The memories, the sorting, and the quiet moments of gratitude have been good, certainly worth a few moments of my day. The ornaments have found new homes or are put in boxes and the memories have been safely tucked away. But the dust is still here, and someone really does need to take care of it. Since no one else is volunteering, I suppose it’s time for me to get busy.
Turns out, legacy is meaningful.
Dusting is just necessary.
Until Next Time,
Catherine
