Ask and Ye Shall Receive

At Barnes and Noble last week, a kind clerk asked me if I had a Nook yet. Like the Kindle, Nook is B&N’s answer to the e-book. We talked about the fact that we each had not purchased one, but were beginning to lean toward the idea, particularly because we like to travel with two or three books, or need our reference books on hand at any given moment.


“I have been resisting,” I said. And I thought a minute. “You know what I really need right now, though? A sewing machine.” I don’t know what inspired me to say it to this woman, but beside me were both little children. Their little round mouths have been chattering non-stop about Halloween costumes we must make, creative projects we need a sewing machine to complete, and clothes that need altering. I had even noted on a sheet of paper at home that I would like a sewing machine for Christmas.

“I have one!” announced the clerk, and then after telling me she had taken it out of the box a few years ago, only to never use it, she offered to sell it to me for a good price. We exchanged emails, I thanked her, collected my purchase and my children, and turned to leave.

“Wait,” she said suddenly, “I’ll just give it to you. You can have it.” I was astonished.

So, yesterday, I brought my new sewing machine home. My son was so excited when I lifted the cover to show him the mechanics of needle, thread, and motor. He wants to be a gladiator for Halloween, and knows there are no gladiator costumes on the shelves at Target, but this machine makes his idea possible. In fact, this machine makes a lot of things possible. Years ago, my sister and I planned to buy one together to push the dyed silk I used to make to the next level of creative glory. The tiny one-stitch portable machines I have purchased really don’t work so well, and I want to teach my daughter to sew. I tell her stories about my mother making my clothes, making Christmas ornaments, and altering our outfit’s hems and waists. (My mother is, of course, the best mom in the world, and I want to be just like her, but I do not sew nearly as well.)

I am stunned that a stranger could be so generous. She asked for nothing in return. This little thing I held in my heart was not just for the convenience of professional stitching, but for the ability to produce memories and to teach my daughter something that she can build upon. She wants to design clothes when she grows up.

So, thank you, generous clerk. Thank you! And you’ll be the first to see Tiny Man in his gladiator outfit. Now, if I can just draw up a suitable pattern…

What Women Really Want... At Least This One

Last Christmas, my husband asked me what I wanted. I did not even have to think.


“An umbrella,” I said.

“No, really. What do you really want?” he pressed.

“An umbrella. Mine just broke. I would also like long sleeve pajamas and a pair of slippers.” He thought this was really funny, but I am a practical person. I find receiving extravagant gifts to be somewhat embarrassing. I really prefer what I really need, and only on occasion might think of something I actually want for the sake of wanting. This year, for my birthday, I identified a want.

“I would like a houseplant for my birthday, please.”

I realize a lot of women ask for jewelry. But for me, the houseplant represents something greater.

“Any particular kind of plant?” asked my husband. I told him, no, that he would see the right thing and know. I suggested maybe something that bloomed once in a while—it would give me something to anticipate. Something that grows, something that represents life. Nothing comforts a room like a thriving potted plant.

For the last year, I have had no houseplants. The ones I moved here last year from out of state became infested with flies and we had to put them outside where they did not survive. After that, we traveled so frequently for my children’s visits with their father, that I wanted one less thing to worry about when we were gone. We still have travel, but there is a greater degree of predictability to it. I can plan now. I can put roots down. I wanted that to be reflected in something else with roots.

On my birthday morning, my son announced he wanted to give me a tree. I followed him downstairs. There, before the piano, stretching tall in an angled loom of light, was a glorious and gracious large pot of ivy on a trellis. My children had helped choose the plant and were excitedly dancing around it. It is as tall as my daughter. The ivy reminds me of the vines that crawled on brick walls in New Orleans. It is as hardy and sustaining as we are. The gift is generous, thoughtful, and beautiful. I felt peace wash over me as I fingered the leaves.

Peace, security, and a sense of home—just what I really wanted.