Unexpected Gifts

Today the mailbox was filled, brimming, and Toots, who'd fought for his turn with the key, his time to be free from the car alone and walk to the locked box came to the car window,

arms overflowing. 

Returning to the unlocked box, he filled his hands again—

There is just so much today.

And he was right. 

There was a book. This book in the mailbox all wrapped in cardboard Amazon style.

I didn't remember which book I had ordered. 

Anticipation hadn't filled me like it sometimes does.

Ann Voskamp's blog had just been recommended to me yesterday.

How could her book be in my box?

Then, I remembered the eggs and the title and somewhere I had stumbled upon it and clicked the order button. 

An unexpected gift to myself.

I have already devoured the half of it.

It is life water for my parched soul. 

To realize thirst, sometimes one must bring the glass to lips. 

Another gift tumbled into the car, 

Real Simple

Life Made Easier

A gift from my dear friend Heather who I miss like the sun.

A birthday gift just making its way to me. 

I'll get it for the next twelve months and think of her each time it arrives in that locked box. 

The abundance continued. 

Another cardboard wrapped flat rectangle.

More books, but for who? From who?

Aunt Minnie, who fights brave battles and gives parties and love and food and books was thinking of this little guy

and sent

two, just for him, almost two. 

And then my cup runneth over.

This postage, so familiar and distant.

Prioritaire

Sverige

My annual letter for the last seventeen years.

Since I was a girl at 21, living in Sweden, riding bicycles, roaming streets, singing to strumming guitars—seventeen years. 

The number seems stretched and exaggerated. 

It can't have been that long that David and Daniel have sat together post Christmas having a whiskey together

and penned a letter to me in alternating script,

telling me of their year, their lives, their loves, their jobs, their homes.

Always signed Puss och Kram (kiss and hug).

We are Facebook friends now. They could skip this, send me a message online. 

But, I love them because they don't. Because they make time every year to sit with a friend from school, have a whiskey and write a letter to an American girl who they embraced as a friend all those years ago. 

A hand written letter, a gift. 

Puss och Kram. 

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