Simple says it best.
Peace, a choir, the cozy fire.
Loved ones close at hand.
While grabbing the mail a few weeks back, I noticed one oversized envelope with a stamped New York return address.
“5th Avenue” it read. It was sent from a suite in in the Empire State Building.
Yet my Minnesota address was handwritten.
I smiled for a minute, thinking of the many trips I made to the city when I was young.
I thought fondly of one employer who’d put me up in a particularly posh room at the UN Plaza, overlooking the Chrysler Building.
I remember sitting cross legged on my oversized bed at 3:00 a.m. gazing up at that skyscraper shining brighter than the stars overhead.
I was so overwhelmed with the beauty of it all.
But I never quite made it to the Empire State Building.
Was this some kind of a fancy invitation now, I wondered?
Well, sort of.
Inside the envelope was an offer to select a gift to thank me for my many years of service from a more recent employer. They provided me a with a password to use on an internet site.
I retired back in the fall.
The selections they presented me with were dazzling though I couldn’t find any new car batteries or gift cards for dog food included.
Instead I saw regal looking clocks with chimes, delicate diamond bracelets, circular saws, and 24 piece flatware sets.
Nice merchandise indeed, but I couldn’t help but reflect on the fact that more than 90 percent of possessions I owned when I retired are no longer around.
In order to downsize to an 800 square foot cottage that same month, I needed to pare down quickly. And I was also in the process of paring down to a 30 hour work week with a non-profit.
It’s pretty clear my lifestyle’s changed.
And I have as well, I was thinking as I took a second look at each of the possibilities before me.
I quickly rejected the handsome clocks. My time on earth is too short to sit and watch each minute tick by.
And diamond bracelets aren’t a must for my current wardrobe of three pairs of faded jeans, two sweatshirts, and a salt stained winter parka.
I then consulted my neighbor who advised me that deciphering the detailed instructions for a circular saw would clearly have me running in circles.
And once my late husband was diagnosed with dementia, I threw all formal dining out the window and became a permanent fan of plastic knives and forks.
I finally decided to set the big envelope aside for a while.
Instead, I stopped over at the local thrift store to take a look at a small rocking chair for $4.00.
I’ve downsized so much I don’t have chairs anymore for my grandkids to sit in when they stop by.
I found walking through the shop was like walking through my own personal history museum, as I’d donated so many items there.
To my left I saw my husband’s colorful collection of silk ties, neatly displayed next to several of his crisp blue checked shirts.
To my right were lovingly crafted pottery pieces that used to sit on our coffee table.
And in front of me was a display of our old crystal pieces.
There stood my tall Tiffany candlesticks, our beautifully etched bowls, and all my elegant vases.
I saw my favorite vase where I once displayed the yellow roses I received each anniversary.
I became a little melancholy.
But only briefly.
I know all the goods I donated will find the homes they deserve.
And I’m helping out a worthy local charity that does a great job of helping clients find food, housing, and jobs.
Today I went back again to view the gift website of my old employer.
And this time I saw something new that had been added.
The gift was described as a ‘creative vision’.
An ‘evolution’ of sorts.
One encased with color ‘creating a dramatic presence’.
The words made me think of what I want for this late chapter of a life.
I quickly hit the ‘send’ button.
An aqua infused crystal vase will be coming my way in 10 days.
It’s a simple gift really, yet shining with light.
And it will bring back color to a landscape once cloudy as it frames the yellow roses I’ll be growing in my new little garden.
What more could I possibly want?
What more could I possibly need?
Not one single thing.
Is it just another Hallmark holiday?
Maybe to some.
I’ve heard the annual laments about feeling lonely on Valentine’s Day if your not in a romantic relationship.
I get it.
But my whining’s been redirected to the overly inflated importance of the red rose.
“What do ‘ya mean you’re out of the red ones, and the yellow are 75 bucks delivered?”
I used to hear that question repeatedly from male shoppers every Valentine’s week as I’d try to convince them that a perky pink azalea was a better choice for both price and longevity.
I was working in a busy, local florist shop at the time.
Eventually I’d wear each shopper down and they’d go ahead and order the plant. But they were never happy.
A decade later my late husband Richard joined in the fun and placed an order to send me red roses for our first Valentine’s Day.
We’d met just a month earlier and he was disappointed that he was going to be away on business for the holiday.
When the big day arrived, I received a Victorian lace trimmed card in the mail along with a phone call and a question.
“Did you like your special delivery?”
“Absolutely,” I replied.
But Richard seemed to hint of something more showing up in my apartment lobby.
It never did.
Though a week later, with Richard still away, one of his co-workers called me.
“Please don’t tell him, but the florist has been calling after repeated attempts to deliver at the wrong address. It was supposed to be a big surprise.”
I told her to tell the florist to just send them to my office. And the weary bouquet was finally delivered.
These days I still tend to avoid red roses.
I prefer to keep my holiday rituals simple, by mailing cards and candy hearts to those I love.
But this year I’ll also be admiring old Valentines of those no longer with me, but who remain forever in my heart.
Maybe that’s what the holiday’s all about.
Or should be.