I wrote this piece today on the chance that I need something shortish to read during a radio appearance later this afternoon. I like it a lot so I’m also posting it here.
Darling,
Happy anniversary. It’s hard to believe it’s already been fifteen years since you and that lovely woman got married. I hope you know how much we adore her, and I hope she knows as well.
It took me a while to find just the right gift for you. I went all the way out to the mall and then schlepped around from store to store looking at things and just thinking about you and what I could remember from that last visit to your house, trying to think of what you might need to make the place feel more homey, more like a nice place to raise a family. (Your father wants me to cut that last sentence because he thinks it sounds like I’m hinting about grandchildren, but I swear to you, I’m not. I got that message loud and clear, although, to be completely truthful, I don’t know why you won’t even think about it. It’s not as though everyone who has ever had children has felt entirely prepared. You have the kids and the money to raise them comes.)
Naturally the first thing I thought of was to get you a new bed for the guest room to replace that horrible lumpy convertible couch, but I was afraid that would seem too much like something I was doing to make myself more comfortable in case I ever visit again. Besides, I had no idea how expensive a bed can be and that just seemed an outrageous expense for something that might only be used on special occasions. I don’t know; do you ever even have visitors when your father and I aren’t out there on one of our rare cross-country excursions? I think it’s funny to think of you having a whole life out in California all the time when we’re not even there, going out to dinner and taking out the trash and doing all those things that grown up people do.
I could have shopped for a present “on line” as they say. That’s where you buy things over the computer. It really is amazing. You just type in all your credit card information, all those little numbers, clickety, clickety click and the thing you ordered just comes right to you in the mail, just like if you’d ordered it from a real catalog. I like to look at things and touch them before I buy them, though, so I went down to the mall and picked out this lovely table-setting for eight. God knows when you’d actually be serving eight whole people dinner, of course, but I noticed that your plates and saucers and so on didn’t match when we had our dinners there, so I thought this was something you might be able to use. I picked it out, jotted down the product number and then went home and ordered it from my computer because everyone tells me that’s so much more convenient, though, to tell you the truth, I really don’t understand why.
I hope you love the place settings as much as I did when I saw them. They’re all made of some sort of wonderful hardwood. I think they said it was endangered and I know you two are all environmentally conscious and everything but still, they’re just lovely with the deep, rich wood grain. They can’t just go in a dishwasher, you have to do them by hand. They take a special kind of detergent that won’t stain the wood or take out the oils or something. I don’t know. I bought a small bottle of it to send along with the stuff. If you need more, it’s called Tru Grain Cleanser and when you use it you’ll just want to make sure that you wipe the dishes clean thoroughly with a paper towel or a rag that you don’t mind throwing out because over time it becomes toxic as it evaporates. When you run out of the bottle I sent you can order more at a company. I don’t remember what it’s called, but you can look it up through the computer. We have a thing here called The Google. I don’t know if you have the same thing on the West Coast but I’m sure you have something like it. It’s like the old yellow pages (oy. Am I dating myself?) only it’s in your computer and you can look up just about anything.
My love to you and your lovely wife (Your father says I should stop calling her that, or you’ll think I can’t even remember her name. Isn’t that a riot?)
Mom