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Beautiful Things Memory Bears | Amy Sorensen

Beautiful Things Memory Bears | Amy Sorensen

12 x 12 | materials alphabet stickers (Pebbles) + alphabet rubons (American Crafts) + patterned paper (BoBunny) + ribbon + snowflake lace + font (Gentium)

A Note from Amy
When I was making my “The Day We Made Christmas” layout I remembered a different layout I’ve been wanting to make for a few years now, about a set of bells my mom hangs on her tree.
I’d printed the 5x7 photo awhile ago and had it waiting in my to-be-scrapped box. At least, I could have sworn I did! But, search as I might, I never could find that photo I swear I remember taking, processing, and developing. Not the printed photo or the digital one. So! Just to make sure that I finally get this topic scrapped, I went ahead and made the layout without the photo, and I will take a new one on Christmas Day when I’m at my mom’s house. Are there old family ornaments or other decorations you’ve been meaning to make a layout about? Don’t forget to take a photo of them this year . . . and remember where you put it!

Journaling
In our family folklore, the story goes like this:
Amy, playing one hot day in July downstairs in the storage room with her best friend Amy, finds a box of Christmas tree ornaments. In an extravaganza of destruction, the two horrible 8-year-olds destroy all of the carefully hand-beaded, beautifully elegant silk balls that have dangled from our Pretty Tree for the past decade. Beads are every-where! Pins poke precariously from all angles! Silk is unwound and strewn like cobwebs! The decorations are destroyed and nothing can bring them back because they were irreplaceable.
The thing about that story, though, is that I have absolutely no recollection of the destruction. I remember those long July afternoons spent in the cool of the basement, but all my memories are of playing with dolls. I always joke that really, it was someone else who destroyed the ornaments, and I was just the fall girl. What I do remember is how beautiful those beaded ornaments were. The pale blue, white, and silver beads were strung on long pins with pearl heads that were stuck into the white silk balls. The were like enormous, fantastical snowflakes. Like my mother, they were elegant.
Among all those beaded silk balls were these dangling bells. Somehow—they must have been packed in a different box—they survived the demolition. They are, in fact, all that is left of the Pretty Tree decorations I remember from my childhood. Mom still puts them on her tree, and every year on Christmas I purposefully seek them out. Looking at them on the tree—glittering, delicate, pretty cascades that have endured time’s ravages—makes those old Christmas feelings well up. They help me remember how it felt to be very young, full of the certainty of belief in magic. They are a yearly connection to that shy, innocent blonde girl I used to be before my own damages set in.

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