What Memories are Made Of

I had a very vivid dream a couple of weeks ago – I think it was a memory, although a few parts of it didn't fit with my childhood.  (For example, the house I'm remembering didn't have a fireplace.)  But much of it was real, and I awoke knowing how very blessed I was by my parents and the home they made for us.

What also struck me about this holiday memory is that it doesn't feature shopping, presents, a trip, or even a purchased "experience."  It includes very simple elements, yet the sights, sounds, tastes, textures, and fragrances stick with me.

As we're gearing up for Christmas, with all of our projects and plans, let's remember that many things we're spending our money and energy on might not be important in the long run.  Don't rely on gifts or even bucket list experiences to make memories.  What's important is how we make ourselves and others feel.  Maya Angelou said it best:

People will forget what you said, people will forget what you did,

but people will never forget how you made them feel.

So take a few moments, relax, and enjoy my memory of a late afternoon almost 60 years ago.  Maybe it will remind you of something you've almost forgotten.

After the last day of school in December

A gray rain drizzled from an unbroken canopy of clouds and pit-patted softly on my open umbrella.  My toes squelched in rubber boots, but other sounds were quieter, muffled by the steady, gentle rainfall.  Passing cars made no more than a soothing swish on the pavement, water murmured and trickled in leaf-clogged gutters, and birds sang softly to one another from their homes in the trees.

The rain made a quiet world, and within its soft gray curtain all colors seemed more vivid.  Tall trees lifted their dark, empty arms to the sky, but at their feet the emerald lawns glistened.

Cheerful squares of warm yellow light were showing in houses all along the street.  The sharp scent of wood smoke was in the air, and I could imagine the toasty heat of a crackling fire.  I knew that inside, mothers were starting preparations for dinner while children settled down to homework with fragrant, steaming mugs of cocoa.

My house was at the end of the street, a small gray house with white shutters and a brick chimney.  A giant mulberry tree, full-leafed and green in summer, towered barren now.  My swing dangled from one stout limb, the seat slick, the ropes rough.  Geraniums like brilliant red flags brightened the window boxes.

Mama had hung a string of white lights in my window.  They looked like tiny fairy candles shining just for me.  She had promised we would make some Christmas ornaments this evening.  I imagined cutting intricate snowflakes with my new, sharper scissors, and we had also bought some red and green pipe cleaners and shiny beads at Woolworth's.  I couldn't wait to find out what we would make with those.

A warm welcome

My coat and umbrella were left dripping in the garage, and my boots and wet socks had been discarded when I entered the warm kitchen.  The delicious fragrance of gingerbread filled the room.  What a warm welcome for a chilly little girl!  Mama must have noticed my grateful shiver, because suddenly I had a big mug of cocoa in one hand and a raisin-faced gingerbread man in the other.  His head was hot and chewy and tasted spicy-sweet.

Flames danced in the fireplace and the burning pine popped and crackled.  I settled on the window seat with one of my Grandma's colorful crocheted blankets and warmed my fingers on the mug of hot chocolate.  A slight chill was seeping in through the window.

Outside, the rain was tapping gently on the roof, dripping from the eaves, making steady music.  In the kitchen, Mama was humming a Christmas tune.  I felt warm and a little drowsy, lulled by the unceasing murmur of these sounds.

Soon, my little brother and sister would wake from their naps, and we would play with the blocks and train set.  Then Daddy would come home and tell us one of his silly jokes.  Our family would be together for this cozy December night.

Making happy memories

Some memories are so fresh and vivid they seem new, even if they're decades old.  What will it take to make happy memories this holiday?