Love is the glue that keeps our wood projects together. Love is the yarn that knits the mittens. Love is the favourite recipe made on birthdays. Love is the song sung at bedtime.
When wrapping some Valentine’s Day door prizes (what we call little thinking-of-you-gifts in our house), I snuck off to our side room. Its far enough from the bedroom to not hear the crackle of paper and ripping of tape and conveniently, it holds my secret stashing spot for gifts.
In the small room with the secret hidey-hole there is no proper table where to sit and wrap masterfully. The flattest, sturdiest surface turned out to be my wooden chest. I sidled up, took a seat, and wrapped, with the happy support of the strong chest lid. Only when I was done wrapping did I take proper note that my little love gifts were wrapped on a chest made with loving skill. This chest was made by my grandfather for his grandkids (of course grandma had a hand in it, too) and I’ve had it for about twenty years.
Love outlives us.
It was with me in my childhood bedroom, it moved into the first home my partner and I shared together, and it sailed the seas in our wooden crate to Switzerland, where we use it now. Made in Canada, by my Swiss-Canadian grandfather.
Love knows no boundaries.
My grandfather passed away many years ago. The stories of him still live on brightly to this day and his wooden chest remains as sturdy as the hands and heart that made it. This chest holds our linens, supports wrapping of gifts and brings family into our apartment when living so far away.
Love is what we make of it, and what we make with it.
Sew, until next time, I knit,
Kaitlyn
From the camera: the very chest that is so dear
I can so relate to this! I have a chest my grandfather made as well. I love the connection to him and the past.