Christmas

It should have been easy answer to Rick's question, "What do you want for Christmas?"

The problem is, I have everything I want. I go through each day, awash in contentment. 

This year we celebrated a mini Christmas with my daughter in Edinburgh. We played Christmas carols and exchanged presents.

It was October. Part of it was practical. Our presents tend to be simple, often inexpensive, things we can't get where one of us lives but exists where the other does. Therefore, a special Kleenix can cost 10x more to ship across the Atlantic than the original price. It isn't begrudged at all but so much nicer to slip something into a suitcase to be given when we can see the faces of the receiver and use the money not spent on delivery for a meal together in a restaurant.

Time together can not be boxed, wrapped and tied with a ribbon.

I still love Christmas. The music, the decorations, the markets with its chalets. Seeing friends. Hanging our stockings. My daughter embroidered mine when she was still in high school. She worked her needle magic on Rick's a welcome to the family after our commitment ceremony.

My daughter brought one of Rick's stocking presents with her to Scotland (shipping benefit) that I want  to give him. I've ordered his main present. He too can be hard to buy for. I listen to what he says and hope for clues.

There is one thing I want, the same thing he has given me for the last two years.

I read it almost cover to cover--sometimes the restaurant reviews make me too hungry. He reads it then we give it to a friend who gives it to a friend.

So what do I want? I have enough clothes. I have enough jewelry. I even have enough Crest toothpaste, which has made a great gift in the past. I revel in my home.

Poor man, I wish I could help him. He's stuck with a contented wife.