One of the advantages of being “older” is that hindsight is so very clear. The would’ves, the should’ves, and even the could’ves jump up and down, vying for my observation.  To say that, as a young mother, I tried my very best to be the best mommy of all time, is just a really big fabrication. I was going along, every day, doing what I did to get it all done. I wasn’t trying to be inspired. I wasn’t trying to make memories that would shine for as long as they lived. Yes, I did do some of that “making memories” stuff and I had fun doing it, but it wasn’t because I was being insightful. I think I did those things when the thought of it occurred to me. I’m so thankful that, at least, those thoughts did seek me out.

From my childhood there were moments and days in time that have cemented themselves into my memory. Those memories hang around with me and take me back with them, whenever I choose to go.  Yes, it’s true that some of my memories are bad ones. They try, at times, to get my attention and time.  They have beckoned to me to come and play. The answer is always no, thanks. I have much better things to do with my time. Then I politely turn my back, if there is such a thing. But that’s what it feels like. Politely turning my back to focus on the times in my life that have thrilled me. I focus on the memories that make me feel warm and glad that I still remember.

One memory is reoccurring. As a young girl, our whole family would pack up the station wagon and sitting in the very back, looking out of the rear window, we’d wave at the driver of the cars behind us. That was always fun and kept us entertained until we got to the lake, Aunt Kay’s house!!!! Once there, it was my full-time job to jump off the pier into the water, play under the dock (before I noticed that spiders live there…and the very big ones were there the whole time but I’d never noticed!!!) We’d eat peanut butter and jelly sandwiches and salted watermelon. We drank Cherry Kool aid and cold lemonade, played hide-n-seek, caught lightening bugs, learned to ski and just ran and played until way after dark. What great memories.  Christmas, at the lake, was magical. There was always snow up there. After we’d exhausted ourselves climbing snowy hills and going back down them on sleds or on those round, metal, saucer-looking down-hill suicide “toys” (since one of the handles had snapped off)  we’d be called in to sip hot chocolate and ready ourselves for some quiet time.  Aunt Kay got out boxes of old, costume jewelry, and sequins. She’d gotten us all Styrofoam balls and straight pins. Hearing the Christmas music in the background, all of us were seated at the big table. She showed us how to put the pins through the holes of the pearls and sequins and then stick them into the balls. We kept doing it over and over until our Christmas tree ornament was full of beautiful colored sequins and jewels. Now that is making memories, no doubt. I love Aunt Kay. I will always keep her in my heart. She isn’t really my aunt, but in my heart she will always be.

I spend a lot of time, I know, thinking about and talking about my memories. And that’s the point. I’m made of memories…in the making or already made. Living in the “now” is a lofty challenge since each second slides into the past with just a click. The whole point of this letter is that our memories are being made with or without our consent or input. We can mindlessly let the time pass without our participation or we can dive in and make it count.

I must have mentioned this three times, just yesterday. I wish I would have been more of an intentional participant of my kid’s memories. Oh, I’m sure they have some and I’m sure most of them were good…If I can measure their childhood that way? I guess their childhood is not mine to measure. What I’m trying to say, is that I wish that I would have made them sit with me and decorate Christmas cookies, instead of thinking that it’d be much easier to just do it myself. I wish I’d have read Twas the Night before Christmas to them each year on Christmas Eve until they could read, then I’d hand the honor down to them…and then let that be part of our family tradition. I should have made hot cocoa and watched Rudolph together and made the big deal of it that it should have been. I should have gotten a Christmas pickle for the tree. I just now have even heard about it. What other fun, tradition-honored, things are hiding just beyond our keyboards, if we just look?  I wish I’d have created family tradition beyond cookies and gifts beneath the tree. Something that years from now, my kids’ kids would do, instinctively, just because it’s part of who and what they are.

Now that I have grandkids, all of these thoughts occur to me. I’m sharing them with you so that maybe you’ll write a story about your lives, complete with all of the magic that was created while you were on watch. Don’t get me wrong, our Christmases were just full of magic and joy. I just wish that I’d known how much power lived in my fingertips. That’d I’d have given them storybook memories steeped in family tradition. After all, we’re the ones that make tradition. If we don’t have any, we must create it for ourselves. Let it begin now, today. Let it begin with you and with me.  Blessings.