The gift that keeps on giving
It started with a toaster.
Tom and I had been a couple barely five months when he left for Washington, D.C. to take a six-month science writing internship. We spoke every day, wrote the I’m-pining-for-you kind of letters people newly in love write to each other, neither of us doubting for an instant that when he returned we’d escalate to the “let’s make a life together” stage. (We were right.) After the internship, he caught a ride west with a crazed, pill-popping ride-board stranger, and together they barrelled cross-country for 43 (pharmacologically assisted) non-stop hours.
No, that’s not right. They did stop somewhere. I think Tom told me it was Ogallala, Nebraska. There they alighted ever so briefly at a second-hand store where Tom, brain buzzing, looked for a gift for his beloved. That would be me. He chose a toaster. It was, in fairness, a kind of cool, vintage-y toaster. But it was a toaster. Imagine my delight.
It very quickly became the gift to which all other subsequent gifts were compared, as in: At least it’s not a toaster. Or: That’s nice but can it toast a bagel? During the ensuing flawless, conflict-free 30-plus years of our marriage, I received other such amorous gifts: kitchen shears, garden trowels, a hand-held cordless vacuum cleaner, a set of Allen wrenches, a phone charger. But there was also the antique jade necklace, the beads a stunning and unusual sea green, and little pearl earrings I wear when I want to be ultra-fancy, and, in Mexico, a carnelian and silver bracelet that is one of the most beautiful things I own.
I loved these traditionally romantic gifts. Love them still. But, in truth, I’ve worn that jade necklace maybe four times in fifteen years, and I use the damned toaster every day. During the three years of the pandemic, I never wore the pearl earrings. I did, however, vacuum out the car several times a week. Those kitchen shears? I never knew I needed them until I had them, and now I can’t imagine culinary life without them. There is, was, a deep thoughtfulness to these gifts that transcended romance. It was about a life shared, the dailiness of that.
A week or so after Tom died, I got a package in the mail. In a pretty box that opened like a book was nestled a cruet of aged balsamic vinegar di Modena. It was a final present from Tom. I wondered when, during his last weeks, he ordered this. I wondered if he imagined me drizzling it on the Greek salad I made, which we both loved, or the roasted Brussels sprouts I made, which, well, one of us loved. I wondered if he considered that I might, right then, go into the kitchen and toast a piece of polenta bread and dot it with balsamic. I wondered if he was smiling.
13 comments
Dad once gifted Mom new blade for the tractor
So this story fits the pattern!
I remember your father giving us all flashlights for Christmas.
My heart sings along with this tribute to the sweet dailiness of life shared.
Wow! He even gave you allen wrenches. Now that’s true love.
Apparently so…
This touched my heart. Love ly.
Beautiful. I love the male energy of giving us ladyfolk all the useful things. Bless their hearts.
I can believe that Tom was smiling. Thanks for a wonderful piece of writing, Lauren!
Loved this piece. Thank you so much.
Lauren…one of Toms classmates at CHS. I am sorry to hear of his passing. He was ahead of most of us back in the day in awareness of the real world. I bought Electric City and enjoyed it very much. I like history written like he did. Wish I could tell him myself. But please know how much I enjoyed your partners work….Tim
How lovely to receive this, Tim. I didn’t meet Tom until grad school, but I have no doubt he was extraordinary even in high school.
Yes, Tom was a force in high school. For me, it was the first time that I realized that “guys” could be more than hormone driven, sports obsessed, goof balls. We talked music and literature and politics. I never could match or come close to him in intellect and maturity, but he was the first one to listen to me and take me seriously. You given all of us a gift in writing about him. I am so very sorry for your and the universe’s loss. Bless you.
What an extraordinary note! I did not know Tom in high school. What what you say rings so true. Thank you so very much for this.
Leave a Comment