Serendipity

By Tom Allen

Already have an Elvis necktie, but know someone who’d love one? Perhaps a ceramic giraffe doesn’t fit your décor, but your cousin collects them. Do you really need another cinnamon-apple candle? Put it in that snowman gift bag from three Christmases ago and it’s a wrap.

Regifting is the art (and tact) of giving something away that was given to you, something you couldn’t use, didn’t need, or wasn’t your cup of tea — neither cup nor tea.

December, the season when we haul out the holly, brings back the memory of my first regifting experience, before the word was part of the urban lexicon. My wife, Beverly, and I had become engaged. A cousin gave us a lovely silver-plated nut dish as a wedding gift. There was a note card — “Edgar and Carol, congratulations on 50 years of marriage.” The card was signed, “Norman and Sue.” 

How sweet of Norm and Sue to remember that momentous occasion with such a thoughtful gift. How sorry I was that Cousin Carol and husband, Edgar, never had the opportunity to fill that silver-plated dish with the butter mints we put in it.

Let’s be honest. You, too, have a box or a bin or a drawer with socks and scarves, gadgets and gizmos, knick-knacks that, well, you know it’s the thought that counts, but you said to yourself, “Maybe they could have thought of something else.”

Surely there’s nothing amiss with regifting. Shouldn’t it make us feel at least as virtuous as recycling? We have all received items, whether carefully thought out or purchased at the last minute, that were duplicates or something we didn’t need. Long after our wedding gift from Cousin Carol and Edgar, I suspect we’ve been the recipients of a few other gifts, especially at Christmas, pulled from a drawer stocked with candles, foaming soap and lotion, tea towels and potholders. But, hey, lots of folks enjoy candles and potholders. And who doesn’t like to wash their hands with lemon verbena-scented soap?

There is a certain etiquette involved in proper regifting. First — and this very important — be careful not to regift to the person who gave you the gift in the first place. That breaks all the rules and you end up with a crate full of eggs on your face. And you might not get invited to their Christmas party again.

Second, never hand someone a gift and tell them it’s a regift. “A friend gave me this for my birthday but I already have two onion keepers and I thought you might enjoy one.” There are things in life that are better left unsaid. Another egg-worthy faux pas.

Third, regifting expired food is a major no-no. Suppose you find a box of Harry and David’s Moose Munch in your pantry. Check the expiration date before you toss it in a basket with other regifts.

Like all human endeavors, there are regifting boundaries that should not be crossed. No heirlooms, like that afghan your great-grandmother crocheted. No puzzles with a missing piece, that’s just wrong. And, on general principles, no CDs of Perry Como’s Christmas hits.

In a pinch, a nice candle or an unopened canister of tea is fine, but don’t become the neighborhood regifting king or queen. Put some time and thought into the regift, even if it’s been sitting in that drawer forever. Rewrap or rebag, even if you reuse a regifted bag and tissue — but don’t forget to take those name tags off.

And mind your manners. Be grateful, for whatever you receive. At some point a friend thought enough to give you something, and at some point, you thought enough of someone else to pass it on. It’s another way of reminding you that someone considers you a friend, and you them. In the end, boxes and bags aside, that’s the gift that keeps on giving.  PS

Tom Allen is a retired minister who lives in Whispering Pines.

Out of the Blue

Holiday Healing

A season in need of warm and fuzzy

By Deborah Salomon

No surprise that “the holiday season” descended on stores before the first Halloween pumpkin went under the knife. Merchants know that inflation will quickly gobble up dollars earmarked for gifts, parties, travel. Charities may suffer. Good causes will falter. Santa’s bag may be lighter, and New Year’s Eve won’t feature prime rib and Champagne.

Still, people crave this annual reprieve, especially after two holiday seasons dampened by COVID and its spin-offs.

We deserve some warm and fuzzy.

To be fair, holidays that comprise the “season” are unrelated, save for proximity. Christmas, of course, has deep and abiding religious significance, which no slapstick flick can trivialize. Yet it has been commercialized beyond belief — not all bad, many non-believers believe, since events bring people together, create memories.

Secular Christmas, it’s called — a perfect oxymoron.

Hanukkah, also falling in December, joined the trio big-time during the ’70s, swept in by diversity awareness, gobbled up by Jewish families like mine, with children who felt left out. Its symbols — candles, coins, food fried in oil — appeared for eight days, often culminating in a sizable gift on the last night.

Hanukkah commemorates a military victory, freedom of religion and a miracle whereby oil sufficient to illuminate the altar lamp for one day lasted eight.

Inspiring, significant, hardly warm and fuzzy.

Kwanzaa, which falls after Christmas, celebrates African American history and culture. The observance, initiated in 1966 after the Watts rebellion, is based on African harvest festivals. Candles are lit, special foods served, small gifts exchanged but, according to website definitions, Kwanzaa is non-religious and non-political.

My gut says this year we really, really need a holiday season. The world is in terrible shape. Cruel winter descends on a Ukraine with uncertain power, heat, water, food. A drought in Somalia forces mothers to trek hundreds of miles, often burying their infants by the dusty road. In Nigeria, catastrophic floods sweep away crops and farm animals. This year, we can’t dismiss these unthinkables as “over there.” Over here antisemitism has come roaring back, along with gun massacres in churches, supermarkets and, most horrific, schools. Run-up to midterm elections brought out the worst in politicians and their often rabid followers. Truth has been mocked. The nuclear threat changes everything, everywhere.

Of course other holiday seasons have weathered hard times. The Battle of the Bulge was fought at Christmas time. Bob Hope entertained U.S. troops in Vietnam. On Thanksgiving good souls feed and warm the ever-increasing homeless population. But I feel something ominous looming, a shift affecting lives and customs heretofore immune. I feel almost like Ebenezer Scrooge upon viewing a Christmas without Tiny Tim.

Or, maybe this downer will awaken gratitude for whatever remains.

So light the candles, trim the tree, fry the latkes, sip the eggnog, wrap the gifts, hug the kids, hum the carols and bring on the warm-and-fuzzy because this holiday season, however defined, we desperately need it.  PS

Deborah Salomon is a contributing writer for PineStraw and The Pilot. She may be reached at debsalomon@nc.rr.com.