One Strip of Lace, Ninety-six Years Old

I consider myself an organized person — make that very organized. I usually plan menus for the week and go to the grocery store with a list. I make daily to-do lists. I keep up on car maintenance (and don’t you dare leave trash in my car), go to the dentist twice a year, and make detailed lists when I am getting ready to travel. But like everyone, I have numerous projects lying around the house, or floating around in my consciousness, that I would like to do. I am much better at checking off things like “pack up Hawaiian shirt and mail to brother” than I am at tackling the giant ongoing projects, although I have a list of them, too. Some of the residents of that list are: organize photographs (most unpleasant task I can think of), scan Dad’s old slides, do something with Mom’s letters from the 1940s, practice piano, clean butcher block counter top, put things in frames that should be in frames. Ouch! Too much! And that doesn’t even include writing.

I have not solved this problem, although part of the problem may be that I try to do everything. I like to bake. I grow herbs on my deck. I knit. I read — a lot. But when I feel overwhelmed, my solution is to to knock off small bits of things. I just wrote 100 words. That isn’t much, but I wrote. Even a small bit of an important project will bring me back to it. I will think about it as I go about the rest of my day.

This brings me back to the ninety-six year old strip of lace. This strip was the bottom of my dad’s christening gown in 1917. I have no idea what happened to the rest of the gown, but the strip of lace was in my parents’ house after my mom passed away a few years ago. It is now in my house, hanging over the back of a chair in my office, where I can see it and remember I need to do something with it. My goal is to buy a floating frame for it and hang it on the wall. I just have to get to a store and buy the frame. It’s on my list.