There was a thank you note in my mailbox. For a gift I gave last Christmas. Lest you think the writer was a mite tardy let me assure you that she wrote one in December. This was the second time she took pen to paper.
All obligations were satisfied with the first letter. And yet her daughter had come to visit, and noticed the gift with fresh eyes. Which motivated her to express it again. She even included chocolate.
How about that.
The other day someone mentioned to me that she had given a present and received no acknowledgment for it. I confess to have noticed as much for overlooked niceties myself. As if I were keeping score. Which serves no one that I can tell, outside of the athletic field.
It is not as if I have an impeccable record for appreciating those generosities that have been strewn in my path like rose petals tossed from a flower girl's basket. There is even now a niggling remembrance of a kindness that went uncelebrated in my all important stream of distractions.
There.
I paused and wrote it. On one of my prettiest cards. I used one of the JFK stamps I just bought, as he is an icon for stepping into service rather than sitting around waiting to be served.
If I were to charge myself with the task of thanking people twice, or even three times for those selfless acts they have bestowed, it would render me too busy to waste time with wondering who has forgotten to appreciate me.
