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That's a Gift!

Black Friday, Small Business Saturday, Cyber Monday! I avoid them and still receive fantastic gifts all year long.

None of these presents come in boxes with bows and cards. Many times, I had no name for the giver. All were unexpected, and I will never return a single one.

I came upon a woman on a moonlit night who stood transfixed–by what I couldn't tell.

"Do you see it?" she asked. I shook my head. "The spiderweb," she said. Indeed, there was a large and complicated web stretching between branches. "I take pictures of spiderwebs at night, and sometimes people buy them," she said. I looked at her picture and said," Magnificent." Since then, I've tried to photograph moonlit spiderwebs and failed miserably.

I don't have the gift, but she does and shared it with me.

A 95-year-old man in Cambodia went with his daughter to the airport for her return flight to America. This man has seven children. He was a farmer most of his life until the Khmer Rouge took his land–but not his spirit.

He returned from the airport, lay down, and, holding his son-in-law's hand, said, "Tell my children not to cry for me." He closed his eyes and left this world with a smile. He who dies happy wins, I think.

That's a North Star.

I know about this man in Cambodia because his daughter, who returned to America, is sitting with me having tea. She once gave me a Christmas Cactus that blooms in October.

That's a surprise party.

I thought I had left the light on; it was the brilliance of yellow leaves shining through the window.

That's awe and then some.

I was texting an out-of-towner to meet me at the Guilford Free Library; instead, the message read, "Meet me at the Guilt Free Library." The thought of a place where you can deposit your guilt sustains and thrills me. Unload your burdens surrounded by books.

As sure as there is a moon and sun, that's heaven on earth.

Two men were sailing on a beautiful day. A seagull with no place to be landed on their bow and went for a ride. Seagulls, not given to trust, gave it and sat quietly and contented. The men watched the bird as the fair wind set the course. They were amazed the seagull stayed. I imagine the bird felt the same.

That's insurance for a bad day.

My friend and I take walks. She says the sound of gravel under her feet reminds her of when she walked with her Grandfather. Now, when I hear crunching gravel, it evokes an image of a young girl and Grandfather out for a stroll.

That's a novel to be read.

A father offers a blessing to a newlywed couple. "May your love be like that of a Labrador puppy. Without judgment or memory of woe and unabashedly thrilled to see you whenever you come home."

That's a compass to set your heart by.

A young woman told me, "You remind me of my favorite teacher."

That gem belongs on the top shelf.

There is a sound that can't be duplicated by an orchestra or with AI because it comes with humidity and a presence of mind, the earthy smell of summer, and happenstance.

It had been twenty years since I heard this sound. It begins with a text, "Is it ok if we visit the frog pond?' I rush to sit near an open window and hear them coming—two little red-headed boys giggling with glee. A hush comes over them when they reach the pond, and a parent cautions them not to fall in. Then, a plunk as a frog jumps from its hiding place, and the squeals and laughter return.

I didn't know how much I missed this sound until I heard it again. With my eyes closed, these could be my boys in the summer with bare feet, counting and naming the frogs. My three boys, now young men, still enjoy a good laugh, but their voices are deep and boisterous. This tinkling, unfettered joy and amazement is brief. Playing for a limited time only. Get your tickets while you can!

I understand a visit to the frog pond is a reward for good behavior. I believe it is, for me, too.

One of my most essential people gave me an heirloom; her name eludes me.

While in labor with my first son, I grabbed the nurse's hand and said, "I can't do this. It's too much." She looked me in the eyes and, with gentle conviction, said, "You know it's going to hurt, so enjoy it while it doesn't."

#Such is life. Hurt, it does, it will, there's no getting around it. But when it's not hurting, even if it's only for minutes at a time–enjoy it. Seek it with your internal flashlight and beckon it with your loudest intentions.

There's no expiration date on that one.

I Googled "Is regifting bad etiquette?" Here is the conclusion straight from ChatGPT: "Ultimately, whether regifting is bad or not depends on the context and the intentions of the person giving the gift."

With the best of intentions, I am regifting and hope these presents bring you lasting joy as they have to me.

Lisa Nee of Madison, a writer and president of Allen/Nee Productions, writes an occasional column, Such is Life, for Shore Publishing.