I love beautiful presents, I have
been known to buy them for myself, my husband was not too talented in this
area, so from time to time, I’d buy my own, nothing extravagant, usually
something small, something heartfelt, and always something beautiful.
Don’t we all crave that,
something beautiful, even if it is just in our dreams?
There is one gift in particular
that I remember, probably because for a time it was lost. I mourned the loss of it and whenever I was
near a place where I might find one like it, I searched it out, but never
finding it. Until the other day, I read
on-line some words that stood out to me calling me to that place in my dreams
where the idea of that long lost gift nestled.
Words by Isak Dinesen, words that I haven’t forgotten…”All my dreams are
always beautiful.”
Now this long lost gift was near
at hand, available on order; linked, searched, found, ordered, confirmed and in
my hands, waiting to be opened…would it be as beautiful as I remembered.
It was nothing valuable, a
magazine, simple, but beautiful, yes…every page awash with muted photos pure and
soft whispering the story that beauty tells.
Lace and ribbons, roses and
pearls: “pearls are like poets’ tales, pearls of the heart, the secrets of depth” words by Isak Dinesen, beautiful words as
soft as the lace flowing from the pages
“I had a farm in Africa” she wrote “and a home of a hundred summers,
sweetness and winters comfort.” There are soft words of other authors and poets
and photos of muted white lilies, roses, petals falling and white skirts
flowing, veiled women, all in white, reflecting winter, all beautiful.
It was a pleasure to have found
this gift, returned to me, churning memories and dreams from a time past, the
winter of January, 1992.
I received another gift in the
mail, the very next day. It came in a package all brown paper and light. I knew
it was coming but I did not know what it would contain. A package from my eighty six year old Aunt, my Dads twin, her story is enfolded in
mine. It was an amazing gift, almost
sacred, an honor to receive, given from the heart and soul, of that I am sure. I could feel her heart beating as she wrapped
it up, folding it gently in the tissue, certainly remembering the dreams that
were part of it, sewn into it and kept there for a day such as this. I could imagine her placing it reverently
back into the box marked Dress 1975. A
piece of her heart folded in with the lace and satin, netting and pearls…the
loveliest gift. It was encased in brown paper stamped addressed and mailed to
me, to me, it was as if she was sending me her dreams, dreams of something
beautiful, her wedding dress, her wedding day…sent to me.
All her dreams, I remember they
were always beautiful.
“The bride floating all white beside her father in the
morning shadow of the trees,
her veil floating with laughter.”
D.H. Lawrence
