the tiffany

Written some time in the summer of 2008

I spent part of the long weekend antiquing with Roy. We were shopping for the perfect end table: We walked down each aisle, stopping to look at stuff that interested us. And every once in a while, I’d let out a wow or an ooh to express my delight.

The more impressive the antique, the louder my wow’s and ooh’s were.  So when I saw the Tiffany lamp, my WOW startled the quiet, elderly couple with whom we shared the aisle. The perfect shades of browns and greens, with a hint of the palest blue were just right for my living room. But since we were there for an end table and not a lamp, I pulled myself together and moved on. Two hours and two sore feet later, we had not found the perfect end table. So we left without a purchase, but feeling good about the quality time we spent together.

The rest of the day was the usual, filled with chores at home, me buried in boxes and cobwebs in the garage. That is, everything was the usual until I went back in the house and saw the Tiffany lamp sitting pretty in my living room!

A gift given for no particular occasion or reason except to say you are loved and special . . . that’s the best kind of gift.

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