© 2004 Darlene Arechederra
Christmas at last!
I stretched lazily, savoring the moment. Today would be busy. I had an hour's journey ahead of me and still needed to load up the car. My family was counting on me to be there by ten.
I flipped the switch on the coffeemaker and made my way over to plug in the tree. And just for a moment, I stood back to enjoy it.
From under the tree I grabbed the gifts that would head south with me. I'd best not forget any. I restacked the few gifts remaining down on the tree skirt. Then paused...
Something wasn't quite right.
Hmmm...
Beneath the tree was a small, blue box. I didn't recognize it. It had no tag. It was weightless, wrapped in dark blue paper.
Each side of the box contained a message, each handwritten in white ink:
* Cannot be bought.
* Cannot be sold.
* Must be shared.
* Handle with TLC.
Double-Hmmm...
Curiosity got the best of me. I felt like a kid again as I made short work of removing the wrapping.
Nothing there!
I moved closer, peering into the bottom. Yes, there it was!
It took my breath away, and for a brief moment time stood still for me. For, tucked inside that tiny box were memories of years past. Warm and vivid Christmas memories with my family out at my grandparents' old log cabin.
Grandma and Grandpa were in their 80's when I said goodbye to them a few years ago. At times, their lives were not easy. But they were always filled with love and gratitude for their many children and grandchildren.
Their log cabin was a special, magical place for me. At mealtime, about 15 (of 68) small cousins and I squeezed onto the huge, picnic-style benches at the table. Yes, we had a crew!
I was fascinated by the texture of the white clay walls in the kitchen. I had the habit of running my fingers over the wall behind me as I sat at the bench. Imagine the scrumptious dishes lovingly prepared by eleven aunts and uncles. I do believe we had every mouth-watering dish imaginable.
Fresh water from the well sat heating on the cookstove as we ate. It was toasty and ready for dishes after mealtime. Yes, there were quite a few dishes to do.
The cabin was filled with kids, laughter and music. Grownups, lanterns and wood stoves, too. Family everywhere. And even as we cousins grew older, there was always room for our (boy/girl) friends.
We had no electricity. No television to entertain us. The big screens weren't even dreamed about at that point.
No phones ringing off the hook, either.
And you know what?
We had everything we could want. We had each other. We had food, laughter, and a warm room full of love.
It was something to be in the main room! The pot belly stove was faithful in churning out its heat. We never worried about being cold.
Pictures, mementos and souvenirs graced the shelving that ran the entire length of two walls. And below them hung colorful stockings and greeting cards.
Grandpa, along with many of my aunts and uncles, was musically inclined. Needless to say, there was always music after the meal. Music and singing. Out came the fiddle, the accordion, the guitars. And from one corner of the room came music from the piano.
The Christmas tree had its own place in the room. Beneath it were the gifts that Grandma had lovingly wrapped. Grandma always had a gift for each of her grandchildren. (Can you imagine 60 plus gifts for grandkids, plus gifts for your children?) Gifts were pretty different back then. We didn't spend thousands buying gifts, nor did we charge them.
But these gifts under my grandparents' tree were special. They weren't just gifts. Oh, no. They were Million Dollar Gifts, because *Grandma* gave them to us.
Ever so gently, I closed the small box, reflecting on the treasure I held in my hands.
Those days of hiding up in the loft and spying on the grownups down in the cabin are gone. Our little loft *retreat* is no longer what it was for me and my cousins.
Instead, we each have *The Gift.* It's weightless and can't be bought. It can't be sold. It must be shared, with tender loving care.
It's *The Gift* of unforgettable, beautiful memories.
This year, rather than fancy gifts that will soon be forgotten, offer your loved ones a memory. One that can live on through the generations.
I wish for you that room full of love I knew as a child in my grandparents' log cabin.
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Author and Ezine Editor Darlene Arechederra inspires others to put the simple back in saving. In particular, Darlene offers help for the busy woman whose saving strategies no longer work for her. For motivation with a unique, down-home style of writing, visit her at RatRaceRemedies.com
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