Every year this little store in Vermont (I forget the name) sends me a Christmas catalog chock full of old things that have gone out of popular circulation and that a great many folks still want. I think it’s the Vermont Country Store. I have found candies and goodies and clothing and perfume from my youth, everything from Moon Pies to my mother’s favorite perfume, A Night in Paris. There’s something magical about a place like that, almost like a treasure chest of memories that you can touch and smell. I love it that you had someone in your life who cared enough about you to do the real sleuthing work. I keep getting scarves for Christmas, and I don’t wear scarves. Like ties, they’re a lazy standby for those who don’t have the time or the interest to really find out what someone cares about. I re-gift all my scarves and have decided not to apologize one whit if someone comes to visit and said scarves aren’t on display. I haven’t worn a scarf in thirty years. It’s interesting to me how gift giving really is an art; when I get something or choose a gift, it’s based on very careful observation of someone’s likes, habits and preferences, whether they have a fetish for Lindt truffles or a fondness for plush rabbits, chances are I know. Not everyone operates like that, as my love language is gifts. But it sure makes a difference when people attend, and take the time.