For those who have been following
our move to a new home, this post probably will come as no surprise. Some of you have heard my moans and groans
all the way across the country as we've spent the past year undergoing the
rigors of building a new house, leaving our nest of 12 years and trying, with
some stress and strain, to unpack and settle in again.
What you might also have heard was
my elation that our new neighbors are our son and daughter-in-law. We found a piece of land and designed and
built two homes, mere yards apart and only one mile from our former home. Our vision realized, we can now walk the
stepping stone path from one house to another and have found, indeed, that we
can help each other easily while maintaining privacy for each generation.
What I haven't shared as much has
been the sheer fun of discovery that is part of this process. Sure, we've discovered lots of
"things" we'd forgotten we had.
We've been rather ruthless in taking many of them to Goodwill to share
with others who might have a place for them in their lives. Candidly, we lived through the year of
designing and building in some sort of denial, doing much too little to purge
our accumulation of "treasures."
Just this New Year's Eve, I've
finally begun unpacking the boxes that purportedly belong in the dining
room. I share with you the discoveries
from the effort thus far, including the boxes marked "china" (as though they didn't also include a myriad of other
things). I uncovered a veritable potpourri of items that I hadn't
seen in years and/or can't remember ever seeing before! And in one corner, the artwork that reminds
us of places we've been sits in its protective wrappers awaiting the time we
find just the right place to hang each piece. 
What I've been realizing throughout
the unpacking is that it isn't things we've been collecting; it is actually a
collection of love and memories. Tonight
as I dug into one box after another, I found the glasses we bought on a trip to
Venice in 1992. All the memories came
back: the wonderful hotel at the corner
of two canals, the boat that picked us up from that hotel to take us to the
glass factory on the island of Murano and the factory itself, replete with
rooms of gleaming glassware that took our breath away. I remember the awe on our 13-year-old son's
face as he was presented with a blown-glass horse.
Further digging found the pottery
wine glasses purchased on a trip to Seagrove with friends who love pottery as I
do. I remember that day as we wandered
together through one potter's studio after another, oohing and aahing over
their creativity, laughing together when we got lost between potteries, despite
the map.
It always feels so good to be with longtime friends who know you well
enough that they could catalog your foibles, but choose simply to love you,
foibles and all.
And I dug on, finding tickets and
pins from the 1996 Olympics in Atlanta, keepsakes from a once-in-a-lifetime
experience we shared with family and friends when the world came to our
hometown. I remember the ease with which
we took rapid transit to venues, despite the fears many had that Atlanta
wouldn't be able to handle the crowds. Apparently
so many people left to escape those predictions that we moved about rather
painlessly. We saw swimming and
basketball, baseball and those famous golden shoes of Michael Johnson flashing
around the track. We watched the
glorious standing ovation given the last woman to circle the stadium in the
marathon when she slowly made that last lap long after the rest of the runners.
Her finish was the most meaningful of
all for the crowd that day. We were
saddened by the bombing in Olympic Park, a place that first was associated with
happy children running through fountains of cool water, but bears also the
stain of one man's lethal anger.
Obviously, I could go on as the
memories emerge with so many of the items we've accumulated and moved from
state to state or just this one mile from house to house. But one last picture was tonight's most
amazing find--the "witch nose" that neither of us remembers buying, owning or being
gifted. Amid all the happy memories of
trips taken, family and friends enjoyed, there is this, a mystery that brings a
smile with it.
As I've been writing this, we've
been hearing the fireworks of the New Year celebrations. I stepped out on our front walk and saw the
bursts of color rising into the sky, blooming like giant chrysanthemums and
booming like the guns of a naval battle of old. It is a good night that ends a year that
brought us joys as well as the sorrow of a dear friend lost. She would like our new house and would enjoy
sharing the memories, many of which included her deep laughter and ready
wit. We remember her with love, knowing
that this night, too, begins a year, one
with the promise of new joys, as well as the possibility of new sorrows. It is the promise and possibility that we
anticipate and celebrate.
Here's to a Happy New Year for all
who've read this far. May the memories
you make in the year ahead give you joy for years to come,
