After the funeral, when the...
Illustration
After the funeral, when the nieces and nephews finally went through Aunt Sally's apartment, they found the strangest thing. Way up in the attic bedroom that no one ever entered (the one behind the dormer window), they discovered a treasure-trove of gifts. Each present was wrapped in cheerful, colored paper, and circled with shimmering ribbon -- the ends teased into spirals by a scissors-blade.
There were literally dozens of wrapped presents: some stacked neatly against the walls, others piled high on the cushions of the old sofa. Still others were strewn across the Persian rug in the center of the floor, right where Aunt Sally must have knelt to wrap them.
As for the wrapping paper, some of it was decades old. The colored corners of the boxes were worn away to whiteness. The paper itself was brittle and yellowed. When the nieces and nephews opened one or two of the older boxes, and turned back the crinkly tissue paper, they found clothing that harkened back to earlier eras -- things no one would dream of wearing today, unless it was to a retro-sixties party.
Aunt Sally had missed her chance with those presents! Some items within the boxes qualified as antiques -- or at least the trendy collectibles that pass for antiques these days. One box contained an original Mickey Mouse watch (like the one cousin Matthew asked for, even prayed for, one Christmas). There was a record album by the Turtles, in its original wrapper (Melissa had always liked that group). There was a Duncan Yo-Yo, complete with instructions on how to finesse a "cat's cradle" and an "around-the world." There was even a lava lamp, still in its original box. Once they recovered from their astonishment, the family had but one question: Why? Did Aunt Sally have a strange phobia -- a creeping terror of being caught empty-handed one birthday or Christmas? Or did she simply have a shopping habit that was way out of control?
Whatever her reasons, through all the decades she lived in that rambling, Victorian-gingerbread house, Aunt Sally stockpiled presents like there was no tomorrow. All of them Aunt Sally dutifully brought home and wrapped -- but for what purpose? Many of her gifts did find their way to family members — but as for the rest? It was a mystery....
As Aunt Sally's survivors stood at the door of the attic bedroom, wondering at her secret hoard, they felt more than a little sad. Those gaily-colored, ribbon-festooned packages seemed almost like orphans. An air of tragedy hovered about that room, a faded glory like the yellowed pattern of the wallpaper. Some would commend Aunt Sally for her planning and foresight; but most would conclude that, as a gift-giver, she was pretty much a flop. Aunt Sally's warehousing was spectacular; her distribution system left a lot to be desired.
Truly, there's something sad, even tragic, about an unopened gift. Yet as true as this is of toys and trinkets, it's even truer of spiritual gifts.
There were literally dozens of wrapped presents: some stacked neatly against the walls, others piled high on the cushions of the old sofa. Still others were strewn across the Persian rug in the center of the floor, right where Aunt Sally must have knelt to wrap them.
As for the wrapping paper, some of it was decades old. The colored corners of the boxes were worn away to whiteness. The paper itself was brittle and yellowed. When the nieces and nephews opened one or two of the older boxes, and turned back the crinkly tissue paper, they found clothing that harkened back to earlier eras -- things no one would dream of wearing today, unless it was to a retro-sixties party.
Aunt Sally had missed her chance with those presents! Some items within the boxes qualified as antiques -- or at least the trendy collectibles that pass for antiques these days. One box contained an original Mickey Mouse watch (like the one cousin Matthew asked for, even prayed for, one Christmas). There was a record album by the Turtles, in its original wrapper (Melissa had always liked that group). There was a Duncan Yo-Yo, complete with instructions on how to finesse a "cat's cradle" and an "around-the world." There was even a lava lamp, still in its original box. Once they recovered from their astonishment, the family had but one question: Why? Did Aunt Sally have a strange phobia -- a creeping terror of being caught empty-handed one birthday or Christmas? Or did she simply have a shopping habit that was way out of control?
Whatever her reasons, through all the decades she lived in that rambling, Victorian-gingerbread house, Aunt Sally stockpiled presents like there was no tomorrow. All of them Aunt Sally dutifully brought home and wrapped -- but for what purpose? Many of her gifts did find their way to family members — but as for the rest? It was a mystery....
As Aunt Sally's survivors stood at the door of the attic bedroom, wondering at her secret hoard, they felt more than a little sad. Those gaily-colored, ribbon-festooned packages seemed almost like orphans. An air of tragedy hovered about that room, a faded glory like the yellowed pattern of the wallpaper. Some would commend Aunt Sally for her planning and foresight; but most would conclude that, as a gift-giver, she was pretty much a flop. Aunt Sally's warehousing was spectacular; her distribution system left a lot to be desired.
Truly, there's something sad, even tragic, about an unopened gift. Yet as true as this is of toys and trinkets, it's even truer of spiritual gifts.
