The tide had shifted even before the splash of my college girls abandoning the mothership was heard. My newly licensed and left behind highschool son pirated the second car, named himself captain, changed the stereo, and took the helm without consulting me on his rights to commandeer.
Happy Holidays—the girls are now home between semesters and the “I missed you so much!” sentimentality was short lived. Imagine three dogs with one bone. It is fun to be me at times like this, which reminds me of another holiday subject:
I consider finding the perfect gift an art form. To give the perfect gift, one must imagine themselves as the receiver, live a day in the life, explore the personal history that created the person for whom you are shopping. I have always taken pride in my gifting skills. In the category of gift giving, I am Marlon Brando in Streetcar— I am a Stanislavsky method gifter…but this year I was outdone.
I received much appreciated, useful, thoughtful and sentimental items that brought tears to my eyes, but my technique had obviously been used by the giver of one gift.
At first glance it is a lovely block of wood with three hearts stained onto it. Profound because as I often say, my three children are my heart. I must admit to wondering what one does with a tiny block of wood, but on closer inspection I found with enough force the block slid open…it was a tiny treasure chest.
Inside was a card from the artist who hand carved the tiny box…and something else caught my eye. There in the tiny box was a tiny pink pill—my gift within a gift was a xanax. (anti-anxiety medication.)
Merci ma sœur tu est très gentille.
As to the automobile power struggle…who cares?
December 26, 2016