Recently I have been the beneficiary of several gifts related to my study of history. Each present has been deeply appreciated, despite the fact they were essentially intangible.
Some gifts were ethereal. For example, some individuals have given me their time in my pursuit of history; they have generously spoken with me on the phone or met with me in person. Usually, this present accompanies another, such as that of listening to my stories and questions, or the gift of sharing their knowledge and experience. Some have given me encouragement, by sharing their enthusiasm. I have one friend in particular who never fails to recharge my batteries, just by being excited about my latest discoveries. It is her job as a research librarian to help folks like me, but her personal attention to my projects really inspires me to do my best work.
Some gifts were little slips of forgotten paper. I have been collecting old photos from various families for a project about a ghost-town. Some of the images I have received had lost their meaning to their present owners – their stories gone astray. But by bringing many images together, like puzzle pieces, they illuminated the narrative of each and together weave a community history. These small black and white ephemeral scraps concealed a treasure of knowledge, only visible when they were gathered together.
Some gifts came in a big heavy box and didn’t really belong to me at all. I agreed to facilitate the accession of some artifacts into provincial museums. I was to examine and photograph each and to find them a permanent home. They arrived on my doorstep bundled into a nondescript cardboard box. I gingerly broke the seal and was instantly overwhelmed by the tantalizing scent of age. Ever so carefully, I unwrapped each piece of tissue paper and revealed some remnant of another life: shiny war medals hung proudly from rainbows, yellowed lace and linen lovingly hand-stitched into a little girl’s frock, paper embossed with gold grandly announcing a royal ball, delicate peacock feathers mounted on carved ivory and strung to lavishly fan a lady. These were gifts for everyone, not me; my gift was the thrill of unwrapping each little treasure, the honour of touching each so gently, the experience of bearing witness to the lives of those gone before.
At this time of year it is easy to get caught up in the bustle of buying the biggest and best one can afford. But do these presents mean as much as the more subtle gifts of personal time, listening, understanding, and sharing? Gifts can be forgotten images or unexpected moments of discovery. It is a very difficult thing to do, to give things that create emotions in another. I have been so lucky lately, to experience great joy and excitement, breathtaking awe, and even empathetic sorrow in the unexpected presents that came my way. These generous gifts have inspired me to be thankful for the things that are easy to overlook and to try to give more of myself by really focussing on the time I share with a loved one. I wish you all a season of peace and contentment.
This article was originally printed in the Bergen News and is being reprinted with permission.