My Aunt Diane is one of my favorite people. I literally don’t have a single negative memory of her – not even ONE – and trust me, we were not always well behaved little angels when we visited her house. But I never remember her as anything but welcoming, loving, accepting, forgiving, and a lot of fun. When you are around her, she has a way of making you feel like the coolest person at the party with the best jokes and the cutest outfit. And while those things may fluctuate on actually being true about you at any given point, when you’re around Diane, you believe it. I wish I could carry her around in my pocket.
Diane is also one of those people who would give you the shirt off her back. LITERALLY. If I told her I thought her shirt was cute, she would either take it off, launder it, and insist I take it home with me, or go to the store where she got it and buy me one. I have always left her home with more stuff than I arrived with – either because she gave me something of hers, or bought me something while we were out shopping. I know I’ve had a lot of emotional attachment to things she’s given me over the years. For a while she owned a business that sold all sorts of Christmas decor, and she once gave me a huge tote bag filled with Christmas ornaments that I still have to this day, because as I hang them on the tree every year, they make me think of her.
My mom actually told me she was hesitant to let Diane read my blog, because she was afraid she would try to buy me stuff, and I totally understood what she meant. If Diane thought I was having a hard time, she would want to help me, and while I love the thought behind it, I don’t want my aunt bearing any of this burden I’ve created. I got here via my own stupid decisions and addictions, and I’m going to get myself out of it. Diane has weathered her own share of hard times in her lifetime- the last thing she needs is to take on mine.
One morning, shortly after I had posted the blog entry about how worn out some of my housewares were, I got a call from Diane. She wanted to know what size sheets I used on my bed, and what colors I liked. I told her not to get me anything. She dismissed this and said that if she happened to come across something on a really great sale, she might get it and send it, but she wouldn’t make a special trip. I knew from experience that resistance was futile, so I told her the bed size and my color preferences, and then we had a lovely chat that gave my day a happy start.
Maybe two days later I got an email letting me know the tracking number for the package containing the sheets she was sending me “along with a few other things.”
The package arrived, containing a beautiful set of new cream colored, damask-striped sheets (With working elastic! And no holes!), as well as a set of microfiber kitchen towels, some paring knives, a pair of kitchen shears, two books, a DVD, and a bunch of high-end makeup samples. Oh, and this note:
I love that she wrote that. Sending me that care package was her way of showing me her support, but at the same time, she understands and honors what I am trying to do with this lagom thing. And while I am steadfast in my whole quest to have less stuff, getting a care package in the mail during a fairly dreary time in my life was freaking awesome. It’s pretty special to have someone who gets me like that.
The sheets of course, are gorgeous – they’re on our bed right now. But you know what’s best about them? They’re from my Aunt Diane. I love you, Auntie!