Gardens of Memories

I took a Junior Tribe Member out for lunch today…as I have done on their birthdays from the time they were in preschool.  We go to the restaurant of their choice…many years it was at McDonald’s or Dairy Queen, then later, out for pizza, and lately the choice has been Cora’s. Lunchtime at school is never enough time, and so I need to write a note letting the school know of an important appointment that will delay their return to school after lunch. That was part of it…the paramount importance of the occasion necessitated missing a small amount of school to do it the way we do it.

It’s a “thing“.  It’s what we do.

We talk about this and that, generally thinking about the highlights and the lowlights of the last year.  We eat, we laugh, we enjoy each other…just the two of us.

The day of the birthday, the birthday person gets the special plate of “congratulations” that waits in the cupboard for an excuse to appear at someone’s place at the table.

It’s a thing in our family.

The day after the birthday, we have cake for breakfast.  Why?  Because it’s birthday boxing day, and that is the thing to do, to have cake for breakfast on birthday boxing day.

It’s a thing we all know about.

I read recently of Susan Spencer Wendel, dying of an incurable illness, ALS, finding ways to celebrate life with her friends, her husband, and most of all, her children…to allow them to remember the “things” that were things in their relationship.  She described it as:

Photo quoting Susan Spencer Wendel who says her activities were like planting seed in the garden to blossom as memories

I love her choice to live well, to choose joy…to live fully. She’s written a book, tapped with one functional finger on her phone to remind the rest of us to hug our children, have “things” with them/our friends/our loved ones, to embrace life fully, and appreciate all that we can.

I don’t have a terminal illness…but I’m not gonna be around forever either.

I want to leave a legacy of joy and love.I am inspired by her ideas, as shared by her husband:

 

 

 

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