rejoice

This evening, we did just what I had recommended in my previous post. My parents had some stuff for me, I had some stuff for them, we decided to exchange stuff over a quick dinner at our house.

To be clear—my stuff for them consisted of:

1. A box of fresh Asian pears, grown by the farm next to our church. A rare delicacy!
2. A box of candles that they had ordered through a 4-H fundraiser. New! Chosen by them!
3. A bag of fresh citrus acquired by me through various local fundraisers. Fresh, I note!
4. Part of a gift for a fellow family member. A gift for someone else!

And this is what I got in return:

Three boxes of crap from my childhood that were recently dragged down from their attic by my brothers, who are now also on my list. For some reason these items required urgent attention from me right before Christmas. My husband helpfully noted that no word of the day regimen was strong enough to withstand this challenge. 

In the end, we laughed until we cried about what I had chosen to save for three decades. Such as this doll, that allowed you to change the color of her hair by swivelling the top of her head. Eerily prescient of present-day hair color fashion.

I will never regret saving this box of Barbie clothes. In fact, I have been wondering where they were for some time. My great-aunt, who had no girls of her own, made me an extensive Barbie wardrobe, from sweaters to ballgowns to pantsuits to wedding dresses. This picture is only the tip of the iceberg.

It is a treasure trove of lovingly recreated seventies fashion, in miniature. I am in awe all over again, and wish she were still around so I could call and tell her how much I still appreciate her effort. As every crafter always hopes when gifting a hand-made item: her love for me still shines through, all these years later.

My flute, a stained glass project from 9th grade, several dolls handmade by my mother... Quite a few photos were squirrelled away in old pencil box. Upon being shown this photo, Terzo asked which one was me.

He now understands that he will never live that question down.

But the mother lode of discoveries was this beauty:

Undoubtedly lovingly made, but the name of its maker has been lost in the sands of time. My mom wasn't quite sure if she was handmade but these stitches do not lie. Nor do the pink pom-poms.

As a fellow crafter, I love the net bow to cover up the stitches in the wrong color thread, because that is some classic crafter misdirection.

I have not exactly gotten behind the elf-on-the-shelf trend (again: super lazy, not a great play actor) but now I am changing my tune.

I have dubbed her Elfina, and she shall haunt my children's dreams.

And what does this all have to do with the word of the day? My prodigal crap has come home, and I have chosen to rejoice despite the poor timing. Though I may postpone my staged "killing of the fatted calf" with Elfina until tomorrow. I wasn't kidding about the haunting.