I always wanted a hope chest, but there never was money or
space for one in my youth, and certainly I was not blessed with domestic
talents that would fill a trousseau. Besides, there was no dowry. But the
traditionalist in me dreamed of what it would be like when I left home and
established a place of my own. In my hope chest would be handmade quilts, and embroidered pillowcases. A set of copper bottomed pots and pans, and
some nice bone china. Some books, and
empty journals, and a fine tipped fountain pen.
Maybe a little money tucked into a sock, and a few little non-functional
treasures from my childhood, for sentimental reasons. But alas, I never did
have one.
So now, even though I am a legitimate senior citizen
according to Ross discount stores (they will give me 5% off on Senior Tuesdays)
I have decided to create a Hope Chest for myself.
Sort of.
I am going to leave home, at some point, and when I do I
want to be prepared.
For this particular season of Lent, wherein I
discipline myself to write purposefully every day until Easter, I will be adding
“items” to my figurative
HOPE CHEST. Thoughts, feelings,
concepts, philosophies, nuggets of inspiration and life lessons – these I will
place in my life trousseau, hoping that one day my children and their children
will know who I am and what matters to me. Little life lessons, so to speak.
Tidbits of truth, according to my own conscience.
My biggest fear in doing this, besides the general anxiety
of trying to wax poetic every day, is that the people I care about might think
the topics I address are well thought-out and the distilled sum of all that
matters to me. Therefore, herewith is my
disclaimer:
The posts which follow will
address topics that matter to me; but they are not all that matter to me. Just a little peek into my brain…and my
heart…and my hopes.
