Unpacking the Christmas ornaments, this weekend, made me think.
It made me think about years gone by, of course. Family traditions, children who grow way too fast, and warm and cozy Christmas memories.
As I reached to the bottom of the last box, I thought of something else.
Way down, beneath last year's crumbled newspaper, was a zipped up plastic bag.
Inside the bag were holiday remains.
The bits and pieces of ornaments and figurines.
They were placed in the bag one year, with the intention of repair.
One packed up holiday led to the next, and there they sat.
As I held the tiny bag of broken memories, I thought.
I thought about all the projects I had promised to start and never did.
I thought about all the people I have met, their funny stories, and my promise to them that I will put it all in a book someday.
I thought about the plans for projects we make, the ideas and promises we keep In our heads.
When will it ever get done?
I thought about the thousands of digital photos that wait to be scrapbooked. The hours of home video footage that waits to be transferred, the detailed memories of first steps, first tooth, and first haircut that have yet to be documented.
I became overwhelmed, not at the task of decorating my home for the coming holiday.
But by the reminder of how quickly each year passes. Another year has passed and the snowman in the bag remains headless.
I finished assembling the manger scene, and tried not to beat myself up too much for things left undone.
I comforted myself with the notion that intent is half the battle.
I intend to do all of these things.
I intend to choose a date and time, too.
But first, I will decorate for the next big holiday.