Fa LA LA LA LA: thought, time, and paste
Final crush time.
Only time for wrapping it up quickly.
That wasn’t the way it was when there was more time than money.
Limited budget meant searching early for affordable items.
From Oct to Dec 1, time was savored and spent creating each a little treasure box to sit under a tree.
Using elf skills to craft an intricate package design suited for each person.
Bits of collected lace, sparkles, and glitter. Small velvet bows.
Collected Christmas cards, stickers, and specially chosen papers.
Delicate cuts with tiny scissors.
The result an elegant personalized package so beautiful that it was a shame to finally open.
Always shipped the first week of December –
So each recipient could shake with glee (often hearing little bells inside).
Allowing plenty of time for ooo’s and aaaah’s.
Time for telling friends impressed with the curiosities, “Oh, that was made special – just for me.”
Some boxes were designed with separate lids and bottoms: tied shut by velvet ribbons.
Planned so the boxes could hold special treasures later.
Some designs were carefully cut off each year, stored, and carefully re-pasted on new paper and packages the next year.
It was a game.
Who would get the “Cat under the Tree” this year?
What color would Rudolf’s nose be this time around?
Then came fast paced jobs: more money, less time.
And it was more important to enjoy a frantic joy and frenzy of ripping and tearing.
And the older ones wanted to show off the “thoughtful”(expensive) gifts at school – boxes tossed behind.
And some passed on.
Now as houses are emptied, forgotten items, found.
Carefully packed away.
Time is like a rubber band: it stretches and contracts and wraps in endless flexible circles.
Eventually, there will again be more time than money.
And I will sit with tiny scissors – and bits of papers, sparkling jewels, lace, and tiny velvet ribbons.
Crafting thoughtful boxes too pretty to open – made just for each one.
Something that would last longer than the shirt that will be outgrown, toy broken, or trinket destined garage sales.
All those soon forgotten.
But the memory of all those elegant packages: A thought that may linger?
It’s the thought that counts.
Wrapping up merry, mirth, and moment.
Phil, the Philosopher Mouse of the Hedge