What and how to give? Our field expert wraps up the subject
By Deborah Salomon
The art of gifting is a gift — but one that can be learned. Or at least improved.
The whole Black Friday shopping extravaganza gives me the willies; this puzzles, since my list is short and usually complete long before Turkey Day. I do enjoy watching people shop, however, while questioning their motives. Are the gifts required? Are they governed by price? What catches the eye? Do children even know about toys that don’t come doubled shrink-wrapped in a box?
I gladly share my gift giving and receiving experiences, which apply not only to Christmas, but birthdays, anniversaries and other occasions. Some you won’t like.
When in doubt, be practical: I’ll never forget the Mothers Day when I begged the family, please no flowers, overpriced restaurant dinner or bathrobe. I really, really needed a good vacuum cleaner. With three small kids and a shaggy dog I would use it every day. They were appalled, which meant whatever they planned suited them, not necessarily me. To this day, when I tell the story, people express sympathy. Rubbish. I loved that vacuum cleaner.
Listen: I guarantee that sometime during the year your recipient will drop hints. “I burned another skillet — just can’t seem to find a good one.” I exchange small gifts with a high school friend in Atlanta. She travels in the dinner-party fast lane, tells me she loves to bring an unusual wine. Lo and behold, I found some adorable wine totes in the supermarket — even an insulated one — at about $7 apiece. Three bags made a lovely gift.
Never “surprise” your honey with something expensive but difficult to return: My daughter’s car was in dire straits so I gave her mine, figuring I’d keep the terminal one going, somehow. It died. I was stranded for weeks. Then one night my husband drove up in a new car, which sent me over the moon, except it was bottom-of-the-line sub-sub-compact, two-door, no radio or AC. So sweet, but for the same price, I could have found a better deal.
Dollars don’t count: We were invited to a 50th birthday party. I was instructed to purchase a gift that looked its substantial price. Instead, I suggested digging up some old photos (mainly sports teams), having them blown up (with funny captions) and laminated to fiberboard. My idea got shot down, in favor of a cashmere sweater. Well, didn’t somebody else do a similar collage that was the life of the party, at half the price.
Vow today to shop all year: Last summer I saw a wooden box, about 7-by-10 inches, with the letter M carved into the top, on a clearance shelf, for $6. I filled it with old-timey candies from Fresh Market and gave it to my “M” buddy. She was thrilled! Haven’t you walked through a store — any store — and spotted a beach towel, a scarf, a fancy flashlight, a college or professional team T-shirt, a canvas grocery tote, a golf head cover, a pottery coffee mug usually on sale, all right there, no Google or Amazon required? Then you can get up at 2 a.m., stand in line, stampede the doors and grab that obscenely huge TV, go home and enjoy it because your shopping’s done.
Make a dream come true: One gift-giving experience stands out. My father loved watching sports. From a desperately poor background, he didn’t just pinch pennies, he hugged them. In the mid-1950s, we were the last on the block to buy a TV. Twenty years later, my father resisted replacing it with color because, “Color hasn’t been perfected.” Football, boxing, baseball remained monochromatic. I knew the real reason. So on his 80th birthday I contacted a Zenith (“The best,” he believed) dealer and arranged to have a color model with remote control delivered and installed. I could hear the smile in his voice when he called. “Y’know, I think color’s been perfected,” he said, above the roar in the background.
Suffer the children: I pity them their surfeit of riches. I grew up in New York City, in the 1940s, as World War II ended and post-war prosperity reigned. Manhattan was a magical place, a secular cathedral to Christmas for people of all faiths. The animated department store windows along Fifth Avenue; the Rockettes at Radio City Music Hall followed by the Nativity Pageant with real donkeys; gorgeous shopping bags from Lord & Taylor, B. Altman, Best & Co.; real chestnuts roasting over real fires tended by vendors in raggedy gloves. Ice skating at Rockefeller Center followed by ridiculously expensive hot chocolate and almond bear claws at the café surrounding the rink. But my happiest memory was knowing that P.L. Travers had published a new Mary Poppins in time for Christmas. I could hardly wait. For the first few days I flipped pages, glancing at illustrations, to preview the joy. Then I read it at one sitting, again and again, until memorized.
I hope today’s children can tear themselves away from Kindle and similar electronic devices to savor — nay, worship — a book the way I worshipped Mary Poppins.
Please find one for the child on your list. Minimal gift wrapping. No shipping, handling, downloading or charging. Season-spanning. One size fits all.
Pure magic in a format that although not new, has definitely been perfected. PS
Deborah Salomon is a staff writer for PineStraw and The Pilot. She may be reached at debsalomon@nc.rr.com.
