This month I do a lot of math. Well not exactly with numbers, but quantities. I strive for equanimity, in that the worth of my gift to someone is roughly the same as the one they gave me. I hope to send cards to the families who mailed them to us. 

One of the circumstances muddying these equations is the lovely pile of yummy treats that arrive on my desk at work. I enjoy reading the messages, and thinking of that person who took the time to blanch almonds, or make fudge. Others gifted me with tea, or gluten free cookies. But then all the deliciousness is gathered up and brought home to share. Tags are misplaced and when a piece of toffee meets my teeth I cannot recall who the benefactor was. I try. I send a telepathic word of gratitude to the whole office. 

It all becomes cloudy with the abundance. My inner reflex to keep exchanges in balance gets wonky. I have been blessed with such kindness, I cannot ever repay them. My new chicken mug runs over, as does my plate of dessert. 

I recall a movie where the couple are carrying an awkward pile of wrapped gifts into the parent's house, and come out a few hours later maneuvering a comparable pile of unwrapped, different presents. They have ostensibly achieved the moving target of book value. But perhaps there are other factors than symmetry to consider.

The truth is that I can never repay the generosity that shows up in numberless ways. Sure, I paid my electric bill this month. But where do I chip in for the festive lights around my town? Some people climb ladders and risk their safety in order to provide an earthbound constellation. One woman created an entire labyrinth of light surrounding a display of creche figures and invited the neighborhood to come and see. The child I walked it with had fun daring me to catch her, and pointed out the specialest figures. How could I ever repay either of them?

There was a glittering schedule of events recently. The musicians and dancers who practiced for hours gave generously to everyone who sat in the chairs and pews, or watched online. Their benevolence spills over in a way that dismisses any effort to reciprocate. 

Maybe I can just send a grateful song of my own into the night sky.