The Gift Closet

The Gift Closet.... There was a little-known magic in our house, tucked away behind the ordinary oak door of a linen closet. It was my mother’s secret haven, a place not just of storage but of intention and quiet joy. We called it the gift closet, though that name scarcely captured the warmth and wonder it held. Throughout the year, my mother would step into stores or browse market stalls, her keen eyes scanning for treasures. Her purchases were never grandiose or impulsive; they were thoughtful, small tokens of affection chosen with a particular person in mind. A soft scarf in a shade of blue for me, a set of paints for Mike, who dreamed of becoming an artist, or a train set for Patric and Bill, who loved anything with wheels. These treasures would be carefully tucked away in the gift closet, waiting for their moment to delight. The closet itself was unassuming, its shelves neatly stacked with folded sheets and spare pillowcases. But behind those linens, the gifts would accumulate—hidden yet glowing with quiet promise. I remember opening the door once when I was small, curious about why my mother seemed to disappear into the closet for minutes at a time. My hand brushed against a glossy box wrapped in crimson paper, and my heart raced with the thrill of discovery. I asked her what it was, and she only smiled that knowing smile, as if she’d just been caught in the act of kindness. “That’s for later,” she said, ruffling my hair. “A little surprise for someone special.” Her secret wasn’t just in the gifts themselves, but in the way they represented her love—a love that planned, prepared, and anticipated. The gift closet was her way of saying, “I see you; I know you, and I’ve been thinking about you,” without ever uttering a word. Christmas mornings were like unveiling a piece of her heart. Each wrapped parcel under the tree was imbued with a year’s worth of thoughtfulness. The room would fill with exclamations of joy as ribbons were undone and paper was torn. The scarf would be met with tears of gratitude, the paints with a wide-eyed smile, the toy train with an exuberant shout. Even then, as a child, I could feel it: these weren’t just gifts. They were pieces of my mother’s spirit, given freely, unconditionally. As I grew older, I came to understand the deeper truth of the gift closet. It wasn’t merely about presents; it was about preparation and sacrifice. My mother’s budgeting was often tight, her days long, but she made room for generosity in the same way she made room for laughter and love. She found joy in the act of giving, and her closet was a quiet testament to that. After my mother passed, I found myself standing before the gift closet, now stripped of its magic. The linens were still there, neatly folded as always, but the glow was gone. Yet, as I stood there, memories of her love filled the space around me, and I realized that the true gift she had given was the lesson of her heart—to care, to prepare, to give with intention. Today, I have my own version of a gift closet. It’s not as well-stocked as hers was, and I’ll admit my choices are sometimes less inspired. But every time I place a little treasure on the shelf, I feel her presence. It’s as if she’s there beside me, whispering, “That’s for later. A little surprise for someone special.” The gift closet lives on, not just in the physical space but in the spirit of giving it represents. And every birthday and holiday, when a loved one opens a carefully chosen gift, I hope they feel the echo of my mother’s love—a love that planned ahead, that celebrated the quiet joy of anticipation, and that found its greatest reward in the happiness of others.

Grand Lobby

— with Prince Apollo of Shih Tzu

Fountains

Gardens

Main Lobby

The Fountain

Traditional trip to see Christmas Decorations at The Breakers in Palm Beach

Traditional trip to see Christmas Decorations at The Breakers in Palm Beach

Angels

It was 1 year ago today that Mike graduated to be with the Lord. Mike we all miss you terribly, wish you were here. Life is not the same without you.

Love to all,

 Bill

Happy birthday, Michael.....this year will not be the same without speaking to you today and tomorrow for my birthday.....you are missed❤️❤️

Happy Heavenly Birthday Mike! I would have called you today . You are so missed. I can still hear your laugh. You will be in my heart forever ❤️❤️

Our niece Lauren came to visit during her Spring break in 2017. Mike and I took Lauren to the famous Jewish Deli Rascal House in Miami Beach, Florida.

Back To The Future - Skan-a-Matic Executives, left to right, Daryl Hall, Mike Allen, Jim Bunnell and Bob Varno. President and CEO M.W. Allen calling hours at Robert Gray Funeral Home.

Remembering a cherished day: On September 21, 1981, at St. Mary’s Catholic Church in Skaneateles, New York, Cat Canny and Bobbie Varno tied the knot. Among the attendees were brothers Mike and Bill Allen. Bobbie, a beloved member of our family business and a dear childhood neighbor, formed a special bond with Mike. Mike held Bobbie in high esteem, acknowledging his vital role in our family business's computer network and operations. Bobbie, in turn, attributed much of his success in the field of computers and IT to Mike's mentorship. Their collaborative spirit and friendship were evident. Bobbie's title was Manager of Information Systems. He started working for the company in Elbridge, N.Y working in the machine shop. As we reflect on these memories, it's clear that their partnership not only enriched our lives but also propelled their careers forward. Forever remembered, forever cherished.

For those going through loss in their lives, there is a process we go through, called stages of grief. I have been attending some bereavement groups at Trustbridge, which is also called Hospice by the Sea in Boca Raton, FL. There are many people who still go to these meeting even after having lost loved one's years ago.  They go because the people at the meetings can share their experiences, strength and hope.  What I have learned through the loss of parents, brothers, cousins, friends, is that death is something all living things experience, no matter what they are. But thinking of death as a change, not an end, can help us feel better about it. When we see ourselves as forever connected to something timeless, it can make death less scary. Understanding this can give us peace and bravery in life, even though it doesn't last forever. My younger brother Bill and his family have been a tremendous source of love, strength, support and understanding. I know they are grieving also. We appreciate our close family bonds. We also appreciate the support we receive from friends and extended family.

— with Jody Allen

Preserving History: This cherished heirloom captures Austin and Mary Allen, seated gracefully on their Otego, New York porch in the late 1890s, surrounded by their beloved family. As dedicated farmers, Austin and Mary nurtured both their land and their kin. They lovingly raised William B. Allen, who in turn, became the father of Percy Allen. Austin and Mary stand as the great-grandparents of our father, M. William Allen.

Capturing a Glimpse of History: Our grandmother, Viola Swinton Allen's father, William Swinton, our great grandfather, stands proudly with his lunch cart on the streets of Whitehall, New York. A snapshot of a bygone era, where hard work and entrepreneurship defined the spirit of the times.

Embracing the Grace: Lettie Root Allen, the beloved matriarch of our family from Saratoga Springs, NY. Her strength, kindness, and unwavering support alongside her husband, William B. Allen shaped our family's history. Forever cherished for her warmth and wisdom.

Remembering the Legacy: William B. Allen, the patriarch of our family, and a visionary farmer in Saratoga Springs, NY during the early 1900s. His dedication to the land and his relentless work ethic continue to inspire us today. He was our great grandfather, the father of Percy Allen, and the grandfather of M. William Allen.