Gifted: A Gift for Giving Preposterously Wonderful Gifts

I don't have it

From me to you. All photos by author

With the Christmas season now upon us—it having started for some the day after Halloween—I find myself looking on Expedia for good deals on flights. I want to spend the holidays in a foreign, preferably pagan, land.

There's little about winter that I like: certainly not the cold, the short days, the grey, the rain. I've never been into winter sports so those don't lift my spirits.

When I look at it, it's the gift giving that has always sunk me, stressed me out. Some people have a gift for giving—they see something in July that would make the perfect present for Aunt Elsie, so they purchase it then and there. Wrap it, put it in the closet and wait with delight for her birthday or the holidays.

Others, like me, are not shoppers. I seldom see something that would delight someone on my gift list.

My gift list: I've pared it down. Way down. Lately, I only give to grands. I have three. And it's a relief. I figure if I give cash, it's always going to be welcome as long as it's a generous amount.

Or I ask parents what the grands want, and that's always a relief, to know what would give Ishani, Evan, or Asher a big smile on Christmas morning.

The gifts for others tend to be of my time. I host gatherings and do my best to create a wonderful atmosphere in a beautiful setting for family and friends. I cook and bake for guests.

Over the years, I’ve been touched by gifts I’ve received or heard about and those are the subject of this story.

Shirley was a co-worker who became a good friend. She had strawberry blond curls that framed a round face, freckles, and puffy hands with short fingers. But they were nimble fingers and they produced amazing needlework and museum-quality stitching.

Shirley knew a Japanese woman who defied her wealthy family to marry an American, of whom they disapproved. Yaeko had been disowned by her people. She moved to America and never saw any of them again. She was cut out of any inheritance; they never forgave her.

When she left Japan, Yaeko gave up everything familiar — her motherland, friends, and family. She brought one prized possession with her: an heirloom quilt. It was beautiful but frayed.

Not "the" quilt that Shirley restored. I never saw it. This beautiful butterfly quilt, all hand stitched, is by Mary Hoard Doak, Canby, OR

When Shirley saw the quilt and how much Yaeko treasured it, she believed she could restore it. But it had to be a surprise.

Since it was in storage and Yaeko wouldn't miss it, Shirley had Yaeko's husband bring the quilt to her. She worked on it whenever she had spare time, and it took a good part of a year, she said, but she managed to bring it back to its former glory. All hand done, no machine stitching. Shirley prided herself on her skill.

When she was finished, Shirley said, “I’ve never been more proud of an accomplishment. It was a challenge, it really tested my abilities. And it turned out so beautiful.”

Of course, when Shirley presented the restored quilt back to Yaeko, Yaeko could not have been more stunned. Or pleased. Or touched.

“Once Yaeko stopped crying, she was a devoted friend for life,” Shirley said.

I envy those people who are great with gifts. My sister, Theresa, is one. She loves estate sales. She subscribes to a service that lists dates, times and locations and she attends as many as she can. When she's out running errands and sees posted signs, she's known to zip into those too.

Theresa knows everyone's size and colors and interests—siblings, kids, grands. She spends a lot of time perusing the sale items. For her, it's a treasure hunt.

She's also, over the years, gifted me with: a wonderful down comforter; several designer hand bags; name brand —read expensive—jeans and clothes; lovely planters; a pressure washer just when I needed it; Cutco knives and potato peeler; bargains on five gallons of paint—perfect for ceilings—as I was painting another sister's house; great lamps and other household items.

Theresa also compiled a collection of clothes that she packaged and sent to another sister.

It's truly a case of one person's junk is another persons treasure. At those sales, I mostly see trash. Theresa sees gold, not only for herself, but for those who are in her orbit. I marvel at her "personal shopper" abilities and I'm grateful when she brings out a shopping bag with finds. For me.

Sometimes, a gift is in the form of a new perspective. My daughter, Hilarey, is an acupuncturist. She told me this story:

This week, I got a haircut from someone new. He was quite buff.

I asked for a trim, but once business was sorted, there was still a feeling of heaviness. Hoping to break the tension, and noticing many kanji / hanzi characters on his tattooed arm, I asked about them—they were his martial arts creed, he said.

He'd been a mixed martial arts/UFC — Ultimate Fighting Champion — for years but stopped as it was too hard on his body "and we only get one."

He also said he'd had a very bad case of COVID and his lungs were severely damaged, so he had to give up his work as a personal trainer. No stamina.

He said he hates the bronchodilators and the rounds of steroids, which don’t work in resolving his lung condition. Regretfully, he’d be on them for life, he said.

I mentioned I practice acupuncture. He said his girlfriend is into it but he’s needle phobic — odd with all of his ink.

I told him the first treatment is the hardest because you don't know what to expect. Most people ultimately find it relaxing and they return for more.

I also mentioned that a diagnosis can be helpful in that it can validate that something's wrong, but limiting too: a diagnosis can set in stone a condition we'd rather not have.

Because I couldn't help myself, I asked if he had any significant losses around the time he developed the lung condition. He looked at me, paused, and said yes, his mom died around that time, and her passing causes him pain still.

I said something about how, as a culture, we are really bad with processing grief. And that lungs and grief are related in acu-cosmology.

I also noticed his very strong cheek bones, which represent lungs and said that per face reading, a branch of Chinese Medicine, actually it looks like he has strong lungs and good self worth.

Just those few words changed him somehow. His stoic body and face relaxed. He wondered about coming for treatment, since I’d warmed him to it.

My trim was complete.

By now his co-worker was finished with her haircut too and mentioned how much she loves acupuncture. They asked and I said, yes, I do love my work.

"And, you know, it's probably not so different from the work you do. People come in needing some care, we work a little magic and they leave with a smile on their faces, indicating they feel better."

He and his coworker agreed. Win-win.

Regifting? One prize gift I received was, no doubt, a regift. A pair of lambs' wool-lined suede slippers I received years and years ago. I loved them from the moment I slipped my feet into them. I wore out the originals and have replaced them many times.

A white elephant, from the same giver, was a battery operated parmesan cheese grater. Seriously? I tried to return it, but though never used, it was three years old. Not returnable. Into the donation bin, though it probably should have gone into the trash.

For me, the really great gifts are those of someone's time and attention. My mentor always uplifted me with his perspective: I'd be an emotional wreck and unable to see what I needed to see. I'd spill the situation out to Ted, who sorted it out for me and helped me to see with a new eye. Always an uplift.

From Kate, I learned the importance of a smile in my voice over the phone.

From Queen Frances, I learned the power of attention. She didn't do it often, but when she fully gave me hers, it was so uplifting that I understood how she'd landed in Portland from Kansas, in June, just in time to see the tail end of the Rose Festival parade. She pointed to that 1937 Rose Festival queen and said, "I'm going to be next years' queen.”

And sure enough, she was. In a few months' time, she charmed her new schoolmates, and the Rose Festival committee such that she was crowned Queen of the 1938 Rose Festival.

Frances said it was because she hadn't been around long enough to make enemies, and she was ahead academically so she could focus more on the social.

But I wasn't fooled. I knew it was because she knew how to fully engage: to look you in the eye and direct loving attention into your heart.

Of all the different kinds of gifts, that's one that can never be underestimated.

Ahh, and Brian delivered this lovely book just this evening: a thank you gift from Sculptor Matt Devine for the story published here on Substack. And Medium.

I'm blown away by the variety of Matt's work. This book covers so much more than what I saw when I visited the studio. Amazing photos!

https://pattylaferriere.substack.com/p/when-life-delivers-you-precisely

And on Medium: Non-members read free here

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