Gifts from the Heart
Friday, June 18th, 2010I’m a sentimentalist at heart. I try not to be. I try to have the appropriate amount of cynicism to sound smart and hip and cool. But I’m not really any of those things. I love romance and sentiment and dusty letters locked in cobwebbed attics. I hoard things. Little trinkets that in a few brief years mean nothing to me and I’m able to toss them out like the garbage they actually were all along. But every once in awhile, I find a hoarded treasure that is, indeed, treasure: a letter from my grandmother in celebration of my 16th birthday, a set of “gift cards” my current husband made for me when we were teenagers and silly in our serious pursuit of each other, a photograph of my mother in ketchup-red maternity pants floating solo amid a drawer full of socks and underwear.
I hope my future daughter has some of this same sense of nostalgia. I hope she has enough of it to hold onto things that should mean a great deal but not so much that hers becomes a house full of cardboard boxes. In particular, I hope she holds onto the set of baby books my very close friends presented at my baby shower. They’re silly books, the cardboard kind babies can’t easily tear, full of pop-up drawings and fuzzy touch-and-feels. But on the back of each book is a handwritten note from my baby girl’s “California Aunties” welcoming her into the world and loving her. I hope she’ll someday see how loved she was, how anticipated. I hope that someday my great-granddaughter might stumble onto a dusty box in a cobwebbed attic and find these books with worn love notes written across their covers.
Posted by Stacey, a Dot-arilla Blogger
