Wednesday, January 31, 2001

Hi Kate,

I have to face it: I've been blessed with many gifts. I tried to think of one thing that stands out above all things and I just couldn't do it.

I thought about the afghan that grandma (Dad's mom; hi Josie) made. She didn't make it for me--I rather inherited it when she died, I believe. I remember when I was a teen there were several holidays that went by and grandma was making these afghans as gifts. Billy got one; I think my cousins and parents got one, too. I don't fully remember who did--but I do remember that I awaited one. And I finally asked one year how come she never made one for me. She told me she didn't think I wanted one, but since I did, and because it was getting harder for her to make them, that I could have hers. Today, I can't look at that pink and gray blanket and not think of her. She was my last living grandparent and likewise the one that I felt closest too. I was only 19 when she passed away and I felt like I was only beginning to really understand what a special gift grandparents themselves really are.

And since I was thinking about blankets, I also thought about the tapestry that Annie gave me for my birthday. It has dolphins and fishies on it and is designed in shades of blue, pink, purple and green. Annie wrote in her card to me that I was as special to her as the dolphins are to the sea. The blanket reminds me of how close she and I are. And snuggling up with it is perhaps the next best thing when I could really use one of her hugs.

Mom just so happened to give me a throw for Christmas, too. This one is clearly a Christmas blanket: It's mostly red and green and it has cats surrounding presents and a Christmas tree. One kitty is a tabby that looks like Daisy and another is Siamese and looks like Lacey. It's really thick and warm and cozy and too pretty to box up even though Christmas is over. So I suppose in this one little way I'll be keeping Christmas in my heart--or at least my living room--throughout the year.

I also couldn't forget the butterfly that Annie and Ingrid gave me for my birthday. Annie and I have this thing for butterflies and we always seem to think of each other whenever we see them. The one she and Ingrid--her next-door neighbor and very dear friend--gave me is ceramic, or cement, like a statue, and Ingrid painted it purple and yellow and orange and other bright colors. But it broke in transit on my way home from visiting them in Florida. I was so upset about that. Annie ended up giving me another one that I can paint myself, but even the broken one is very special to me. Ingrid clearly spent a lot of time painting it. She's so thoughtful and creative and she loves Annie to pieces--just like me.

And speaking of love, I can't not mention the book that Joe's mom gave me: The Future of Love, by Daphne Rose Kingma. She gave it to me for no other reason than that I might enjoy it. And it just sat in assorted places of our old apartment and new house before I finally grabbed it one day to read. And then I couldn't put it down. I loved that book--perhaps the most beautiful book I read last year--if not ever. It held so much meaning for me and opened up several doors to myself that I never fully explored before. It was very soulful in nature and it has since prompted me to look at many things differently. Joe's mom bought that book for several people because she enjoyed it so much. I ended up doing the same.

Joe, himself, has given me much. As much as he always threatens to cancel my birthday year after year, he always makes the day special for me. But the gift with the best story behind it is my engagement ring, which he actually gave me on Christmas Eve, 1996. The short of it is that he asked me to marry him by plopping the ring in my fish tank. He waited for me to spot it until he got on his knee and proposed. He knows how much I love my fish and what they mean to me. What he did couldn't have been more perfect--for me.

And sometimes it's the simplest things in life that mean a lot to us. And the assortment of shower gels and body lotions that mom gave me for Christmas is up there, too. There's one of each for awakening, romance, unwinding and switching on. I've got the lotions strategically placed: "Awaken" is near where I blow dry my hair in the mornings; "Romance" is next to the bed; "Unwind" is on my dresser; "Switch On" is on my desk at work. I love them--they smell so good. A touch of aromatherapy throughout the day is always nice.

Lotions? My thoughts were going off on tangents again. But despite all these material things, as much as I am very grateful for them, I also thought about some nonmaterial gifts, too. Like my life, for one.

I was in a car accident in May 2000. A drunk driver ran a red light and I ended up greeting the windshield with my head because I didn't have my seatbelt on. I could have gone through that windshield. Had I been going just a little bit faster, maybe I would have. But I didn't. And I've been so grateful for my life ever since. Thinking that my funeral could have been that Saturday was pretty gruesome. And I'd rather not relive that experience with any more than a paragraph about it here, because it's over, I'm alive and living, and that's all that really matters now.

I also couldn't help but notice how much the value of someone's smile has. Ever have a really bad day, and then someone, even a complete stranger, somehow makes you smile? A simple smile can say so much. It can say hello, good-bye, you're funny, you're welcome, thank you. It can say I understand, it's OK. A smile is truly priceless. Perhaps it is among the greatest gifts we could ever receive--or give.

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