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.”