I received a strange sort of gift this Christmas Season.
Totally unexpected and out of the blue type of thing.
There came in the mail on Christmas Eve a brown papered wrapped shoe box with my name and address in handwriting that I immediately recognized without even having to look at the return address.
It was a parcel from a someone from my childhood past whom I had not heard from for at least 10 years or so.
Exciting! Surprised! and indeed even some Wonderment as thoughts of "What on Earth? " and "This is Really Something" to think that this person had actually sent a parcel along to me at Christmas.
I quickly tore open the brown paper, noticed my name written on the outside of the shoebox (yes it was meant for me) and lifted the lid to see layers of newspaper. Placing my hand in amongst the crumpled pages I found several fragile items wrapped within.
As I excitedly extracted each from its blanket of pulp and ink I realized that there was a theme to the contents. The several miniature tea cups and saucers, figurines, and sea shells, all of which had been resting safe and sound high up upon the kitchen shelf out of harm's way in my parent's farm house for all of my childhood, had not been seen by myself for over 20 years.
I commented to my family that I found that the wrapping was a bit haphazard as some articles were paired oddly with the others. I remarked, " This almost looks as if my long lost friend has taken lessons from Mom in the art of packing."
It was only after I carefully washed the dust off of each treasure and placed it carefully on a shelf, high up and out of harm's way, safe and sound in the kitchen, had I a chance to look again at the parcel and the newspaper that kept those irreplaceable bits of glass and sea shells safe through the Christmas mail.
It was then that I realized that the date on the newspaper was not 2013..but rather 1994. It occurred to me then that those little gifts were not from my long lost friend so much as they were truly from my Mom , and the wrapping methodology was really hers and not randomly mimicked by the one who mailed them.
Sort of neat to think about. Mom's hands were the last to touch those frail and fragile bits, and the last to wrap them so they would stay safe. Her thoughts were of me some 20 years ago as she wrote my name on the shoebox and sealed it tight.
The figurines were made in Occupied Japan which, along with the tea cups and saucers, were gifts from a childless aunt. The Sea shells are from a pen pal I had from Sointula , British Columbia when I was five years old. I would dictate the letter to Mom, she would print it, I would then retrace the letters onto another piece of paper. I think his Mom did the same for him. Our correspondence continued until we were about 10 or 11.
Totally unexpected and out of the blue type of thing.
There came in the mail on Christmas Eve a brown papered wrapped shoe box with my name and address in handwriting that I immediately recognized without even having to look at the return address.
It was a parcel from a someone from my childhood past whom I had not heard from for at least 10 years or so.
Exciting! Surprised! and indeed even some Wonderment as thoughts of "What on Earth? " and "This is Really Something" to think that this person had actually sent a parcel along to me at Christmas.
I quickly tore open the brown paper, noticed my name written on the outside of the shoebox (yes it was meant for me) and lifted the lid to see layers of newspaper. Placing my hand in amongst the crumpled pages I found several fragile items wrapped within.
As I excitedly extracted each from its blanket of pulp and ink I realized that there was a theme to the contents. The several miniature tea cups and saucers, figurines, and sea shells, all of which had been resting safe and sound high up upon the kitchen shelf out of harm's way in my parent's farm house for all of my childhood, had not been seen by myself for over 20 years.
I commented to my family that I found that the wrapping was a bit haphazard as some articles were paired oddly with the others. I remarked, " This almost looks as if my long lost friend has taken lessons from Mom in the art of packing."
It was only after I carefully washed the dust off of each treasure and placed it carefully on a shelf, high up and out of harm's way, safe and sound in the kitchen, had I a chance to look again at the parcel and the newspaper that kept those irreplaceable bits of glass and sea shells safe through the Christmas mail.
It was then that I realized that the date on the newspaper was not 2013..but rather 1994. It occurred to me then that those little gifts were not from my long lost friend so much as they were truly from my Mom , and the wrapping methodology was really hers and not randomly mimicked by the one who mailed them.
Sort of neat to think about. Mom's hands were the last to touch those frail and fragile bits, and the last to wrap them so they would stay safe. Her thoughts were of me some 20 years ago as she wrote my name on the shoebox and sealed it tight.
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