Adult family and friends

With Sis a few days ago in an independent shop that specializes in local and foreign made jewelry, pottery, and assorted other objects to adorn oneself or home, I commented that the problem for her in being friends with Helen is that she had to buy Helen a Christmas gifts.  (Not exchanging gifts isn’t an option.)  A young woman overheard my comment and said, “That’s a terrible thing to say.”  Except, Helen and Sis are both wealthy.  Neither needs anything nor wants anything that they can’t easily afford to buy for themselves.  

The purest, no frills example of adults exchanging Christmas gifts that I’ve ever heard of was two brothers that gave each other a card and a hundred dollar check.  No, I didn’t get it either.  Why not skip the check and just exchange cards?  Helen and Sis at least go through more motions by shopping for each other.  More form even if not more substance than exchanging checks of equal amounts.  (Is a family organized “draw a name out of a hat to buy a gift for” any different?)

Okay, a confession.  I’m a really, really bad gift recipient.  Not that I haven’t occasionally received something very nice.  However, on balance when it comes to Christmas and birthdays, I dread instead of relish receiving a package to open.  Non-occasion gifts just because it looked and/or felt right are always a surprise and usually ever-so-much-more right.  It also has the advantage of not being tied to an occasion that leaves the recipient with a heightened feeling of needing to reciprocate.  Particularly good when there is a significant disparity in income/wealth between the giver and receiver.  

I have an aunt and uncle, childless, that went all out every Christmas for each other.  It was one of their few extravagant indulgences.  For fifty-five years.  Most of that stuff, along with assorted other gifts from siblings, nieces, and nephews, ended up in their attic.  When a couple of fender benders were enough to convince my by then widowed aunt that she could no longer drive and needed to move into a retirement complex, the attic was too overwhelming for her to deal with.  A nice lady offered to take care of it for her.  And she did.  Took it all away, including Grandma’s silverware.  (Sis minded that; I didn’t.)  

Back before globalization, it was easy to find something special or somewhat unique for friends and family; today, not so much.  The same stuff is available practically everywhere and if not in stores, it’s on the internet.  Send flowers; at least they die and don’t end up in an attic.  Better when possible and finances permit, show up for the holidays.  (You might even learn something new.  Such as Mr. Roosevelt Gave Me A Job or that auntie trips and falls down a lot because she’s not about to give up her high heels.)  

If you must, keep it small.  At a token level.  (A suggestion not best heeded by those with substantial wealth who have a SO bound to a niggardly pre-nup, etc. agreement or enjoy a relationship with a  mistress or toyboy.  Then the more extravagant, the better.)  Fun socks are like the best possible purchased token gift.  Fun trumps practical for those not in need.  Experiences trump stuff.  Also spare those you love (or merely like or tolerate) from the burden of after Christmas gift returns.  Unless they get their jollies from opening presents, feigning delight, and  standing in the return line before shopping for something else.  Or they want an attic filled with unused or lightly used stuff that someday someone will have to clear out.

Then there’s the stuff that can’t be returned without hurting the feelings another who spent too much to buy something she/he honestly thought would be cherished and expect to see it worn or used.  (For some reason, those aren’t the things that ever get lost, stolen, or misplaced.)  It’s the thought.  Smile.  Be happy.  It’s exactly what you didn’t know you wanted.