Surprise Gifting Myself

A Christmas present to myself arrived on the doorstep last week.  At first, I wondered what was in the brown package because I hadn't ordered anything as of late.  But when I cracked it open there it was, the back ordered book I had purchased sometime in November finally being delivered.  

I do believe I might do this sort of thing on purpose from here on out.  Surprise gifting yourself is satisfying.  

The item from the random brown box is a book of street photography from Chicago and New York City in the 1950s and it is beautiful.  Like makes you want to literally feel the pages beautiful.  Vivian Maeir is the artist and she is unique in that she wasn't a photographer until after her death.  She was a nanny, living in a stereotypical 1950 woman's role.  In secret, she took photographs - many many pictures.  Since her passing, her work has been unearthed by the editor of this book, John Maloof.  After his careful curating and compiling, she is now a photographer with a capital P.  

Although I'd dare say she was that long before being recognized as so, a Photographer.  A see-er of the world - the tiny and the small and the everything in between.  She knew she was.  Otherwise, she wouldn't have kept shooting.  At least that's what I believe; we don't do things just because.  We don't.  For whatever reason, while she was amongst the walking and breathing, she didn't want to share her gift.  And maybe in a way, that was her way of sharing. 

I love the mystery of that nugget.  It makes me wonder what else is being hidden in this world which will one day turn into a tangible gift of talent and art.  

Like maybe the person next to me at the grocery store is a painter with a capital P.  Or maybe the person waiting in the next lane at a red light is a writer with a capital W.  

It's a rather whimsical theory, and I like it.  

A gift being shared after the person no longer can share it themselves. 

This book is a love.  It is inspiring, haunting, down right beautiful, and gets my full stamp of approval for a choice in surprise gifting to yourself.   

If for nothing else but this quote from Vivian herself, "It's a wheel - you get on, you go to the end, and someone else has the same opportunity to go to the end, and so on, and somebody else takes their place.  There's nothing new under the sun."  

Worth passing along.

Farewell

I just need to and want to say this right now as I sit here on my couch at 6:17 on a Sunday night...I hope I live my life in such a manner so that when it's over, there will be stories.  Many many stories.  Of love and laughter and hope and inspiration and everything in between.  We have spent the last week saying goodbye to Eldon and it is very apparent the man touched many.  

It was beautiful.  It is beautiful.  And please keep Corinne close in your thoughts as she navigates her way without his physical presence.  He'll always be there for her, just in a different way.

Family and Fellowship

Today, somewhere between first grade and RTI pyramids, I lost my necklace.  A homemade number which matches one my little sister, my mom, and my sister-in-law all have.  It is crocheted chains of yarn with a flower on the side and I really rather liked it.  Mostly because I knew we all had one.  I am a sucker for ties that bind.

 

But it fell off and I lost it.  

And somewhere between first notice and missing it, I remembered big.  Big issues of much more importance than a yarn necklace.  So I am not missing it and not giving it another thought.  I just am not, because here's what I was thinking about as I walked down the hallway to try to find the gray and pink yarn.  

"Amy, I think you could sell that lamp over there to a blind man!" said with a chuckle and an arm thrown around my shoulder by my uncle Eldon a few summers ago.  We were having a garage sale at his and Corinne's house of Grandma Audrey's things before she moved.  I was selling, wanting to clear things out.  After a few successful attempts and people walking off with items that they never knew they needed nor wanted, that's what Eldon said.

 

I found myself thinking of that many, many times when I wondered if I could do my second job this summer.  The job of selling marketing and advertising.  "I think you could sell that lamp over there to a blind man!" 

In other words.  You are capable.  You can do anything.  

Because that's the thing about Eldon.  He found you.  He had a way of knowing exactly what words you needed to hear.  He made people feel special.  Every single day as he interacted with coworkers and sold cars at Ryan Chevrolet.  Every single day as he lived his life with family and friends and complete strangers.

 

So now that we are saying goodbye to him, there's an ever steady flow of people who have been impacted by the man named Eldon.  Impacted, inspired, and who have received candy from him.  Of course candy!  Both he and Corinne are the forever candy fountains.  When we went to Corinne's on Saturday afternoon, the very first thing Little Man said to her after a hug was, "Hey Quaaeen, can me have some candy?"  And of course, she jumped right to it.

 

Eldon's legacy lives on.  It will continue to always.  He was a giver and a lover of life so it's bound to. 

My parents, Sister Pister, and Hayes came over for brunch yesterday morning before we headed back over to Corinne's.  I have decided I can add other thing to my list of I believes.  

I believe in family and fellowship all the time, but especially in times of loss. 

 

 

This year, Uncle Eldon won't be calling every person in our family and singing the entire happy birthday song to them on their special day.  But you can guarantee we will all be thinking of him at some point on that day, knowing he'd want us to feel loved.  We will all be thinking of him many days.  Carrying on with his legacy of selling lamps to blind men.