Gift-giving

[ Warning: this is way sentimental]

Once upon a time I desired specifics:
a twenty-one-speed mountain bike sized to fit,
a doll’s house for plastic ponies,
a silk-textured sleeping bag okay down to freezing.

Once upon a time I gave friends specifics: a much-wanted movie,
the latest CD, a particular book,
a favorite wine.

But this year it’s different.

The people I love now don’t really need anything:
we know how to shop. If we want it we buy it,
on credit or salaries our folks disbelieve.

There’s no Christmas list, no birthday wishes -
so nothing to give.

Yet birthdays and Christmas and babies keep coming:
occasions for presents and things to unwrap.
After all, we don’t care any less than we did years ago.

This year for my birthday:
ten emails with wishes, six pings to say ‘hi!’
four voicemails,
two different-styled notebooks,
two books on spec,
one weekend with beach-hike,
one bag for my travels,
one necklace that gleams.
None of it needed, none of it wanted - until I received it,
when everything changed.
All week I thought, Hey, they remembered!
and said, “Oh, I love it!” and “Thank you so much.”

This year, like most others, I try to plan presents,
but I’ve given up on details, on things people need.
Instead I arrive with gift bag in hand:
a teacup, some tea, a card in green paper. I have no idea
if my friend will like these. But they’re here and I’m here
and I clearly remembered enough in advance
to find paper and a bow.

We hug, drink champagne, wish “Happy birthday!”
and I think about presents:
what’s needed, what’s not, and how little it matters
compared to “Hey, they remembered!” and just showing up
to talk and eat cake.
Presents prove memory, offer later reminders:
“This was from... who remembered! It’s my favorite now.”

Turning 31

On Friday I turned 31. “You ready to go?” my guy asked when he walked in the door after work. He tossed groceries in the fridge and started changing from work clothes into something that looked more like weekend-wear: jeans, a t-shirt.
“Yeah,” I said. “Do I need a sweatshirt?”
“Yeah.”
We headed out the door. He drove me out to Half Moon Bay - the nearest beach. We watched the sun set behind the hills, multiple times, as we drove. HMB was foggy, but we walked through the sand anyway, before dinner at Half Moon Bay Brewing Company. This is one of my ongoing favorite restaurants, largely because it has firepits and live blues/rock bands. It also cards me every time I go there. This time was no different. It’s not all bad to get carded on your thirty-first birthday, but I do wonder - where was all this rigor when I was underage? I didn’t have ID, so I ordered hot tea and sneaked sips of my guy’s beer when the server wasn’t looking.
On Saturday we hiked out to Tennessee Beach. When we got home my guy started dinner. I messed around with the stereo and the computer, not paying any attention. “OK!” he called a while later. And we sat down to perfect steaks - grass-fed, since that’s my newest food-kick, and with a sauce that my guy, in his first attempt at steak, adjusted wildly from the recipe with noticeable success.
This is an awesome birthday.

Rapidly becoming addicted to Twitter

So I haven't posted in a while - but yesterday I gave in and finally signed up for Twitter. So far it seems strangely addictive. Right now I'm in a meeting, so in a few minutes, I'll probably add some sort of Twitter gadget to this page.

Lack of willpower

11pm: I decided I didn't have the energy to work on my trashy novel tonight. Before that I had a good evening: made carrot cake, investigated the tax consequences of buying a house (wow, it's enough to actually offset the property taxes!), read part of a book about emigrating from the United States (Canada? No, not seriously considering it, but the idea does every so often come up). My next plan was to curl up in my big armchair with Neal Stephenson's Quicksilver, read for an hour or so, then go to bed. 

And yet I gave my husband a kiss and said, "I'll be out in a bit," as I headed toward the room that holds my writing desk. I sat down and took out my laptop. I'm procrastinating a little now, writing this, but I think I'll still get my 500 words in spite of myself. Yesterday I didn't intend to go to the gym, either, and yet half an hour later there I was upping the stack from 50 to 70 pounds while listening to an actor with a pretentious English accent read The English Assassin  on my headphones.

And now I'm finishing up this entry, and now I'm off to the manuscript...my good intentions are sneaking up on me. 

That's the city in the distance

View from Tiburon - it would be hard to leave California.

Good things: fog in Fort Bragg