A Light for My Path

My 14-year-old granddaughter has taken ballet lessons for several years now. This is the second year in a row that she was selected by audition to perform in a city-wide production of The Nutcracker. Although she has been dancing en pointe for three years, this year is her first time to do so in a large production. She is very excited and is practicing diligently.

We will, of course, go to see her dance. The other day at the little thrift shop where I volunteer, I found a beautiful book of the story of The Nutcracker illustrated with photographs taken during the filming of George Balanchine’s production. The book appears to be brand new. When I brought it home and showed it to my husband, he agreed it was a perfect gift for Cate. He said “you’re such a thoughtful grandmama.”

I do try to put thought into gifts I buy for friends and family members. Many of us have plenty of “things.” I know certainly at my age, there really aren’t any material things I need. We have a lot of stuff, especially after selling our previous home and moving fulltime into what had been our weekend house. We had a lot of duplicate items to sort through and I still have a few unpacked boxes in the guest room closet.

My grands are not lacking in material possessions either. And, while I don’t mind spoiling them a little, I don’t want to mindlessly buy them every shiny gadget that catches an eye. 

In fact, I don’t want the point of gifts ever to be just spending money. I want there to be a reason and a meaning behind a gift or an experience. I want to be intentional in my interactions with others. Not just my grandchildren, but yes, especially my family and loved ones. I want to build memories with them. I want to say yes to spontaneous requests. When my youngest grand wants me to play Barbies with her, I want to say “okay,” even though I always have to be Ken. When a friend asks me out for coffee on the spur of the moment, I want to say “I’d be delighted” even though my hair needs washing and I’m in the middle of a good book. When my husband suggests a Sunday afternoon drive when I really need to do laundry and clean the porch and work on my blog and . . . “let’s go!”

With just a small dose of thoughtfulness, a game or a chat or a car ride just might spark a memory one day. How precious to say to someone, or have them say to you, “remember when?”. And you do remember. And you talk about it and you smile or laugh, or maybe tear up a little. Because, sometimes the place you went, the game you played, the person you spent time with isn’t here anymore.

Maybe we should try harder to be intentionally thoughtful.

It’s just something to think about.

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Laura