As usual, the Christmas season of gift-giving, good cheer, and eggnog-induced stretch pant proclivities has crept up on me, silently stalking like some graceful cat and now ready to pounce. Also typical, I have yet to purchase any presents and, when posed the fundamental question of "what do you want for Christmas" by my mother, found I had not even thought about it and was speechless. Spending a moment or two today considering, I realized what I want is either intangible and abstract, say, a lifetime of challenge and utter contentedness, or is utterly ludicrous, say, a fainting goat and an enormous citrine cocktail ring. Or an island, populated solely by a personal cabin. Or for my darling, beautiful niece to, magically, never make any of the mistakes I have made. This list of impracticality could continue for quite some time.
With eyes fresh, new, in a metabolic whir of constant amazement, shopping for Winona by far is the easiest and most enjoyable. In an absolute worst-case scenario, she would be delighted unwrapping a box of sticks, relishing ripping the paper, and using said detritus to antagonize the dog. Or build an imagination cabin, on some far off island of her own making.
(image taken from A Well Traveled Woman)
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