Gifts play a significant role in most of our lives. They commemorate special events. They show generosity. They remind us of our importance. They teach us that others see us and wish to offer us gratitude and kindness. A gift given in the spirit of knowing and understanding the recipient is a powerful thing. It can speak so very loudly to one’s soul about its value.
When I think about the many things we have received as gifts over the years, I am filled with gratitude. Some gifts are small, some large. Some represent memories and people, others represent needs fulfilled, others still were simply about desires of the moment. Some were temporary in nature, others permanently fixed in our collections. We have been well loved in this way. There are a few that are deeply meaningful to us. For a variety of reasons – some our own, some belonging to the givers themselves.
When Bryan was young, his family spent some time living in Louisiana where his father was completing a medical residency. I’ve heard many stories from this time. It is remembered fondly – especially the stories of eating crawfish with his very young brother and the inevitable discomfort of touching eyes with salty, spicy fingers. Warnings never heeded, tears a common result. This experience was a world away from chilly Winnipeg winters, the prairies and a typical Canadian childhood. I suspect eyes were opened to the possibilities of different experiences and traditions. It was here in this different world that a picture was purchased. A picture that was given, many, many years later to Bryan. A lovely drawing entitled Dixieland Jazz. A group of musicians. The drawing conjuring up music – played with friends, played for the sheer joy of it. Who was to know when Bryan was just a child that music would be so fundamental to his life? Who was to know that he would end up married to a musician? This picture represents fond memories, treasured interests and an ever present vocation. It hangs above my piano. These gents have helped more than one student face their fear of performing – as a gentle audience. They have been named on occasion (one of them was once dubbed Doug, which doesn't really seem to fit!). They accompany me daily. They remind me of the past and the present, family and friends. A good gift indeed.
There is another gift that watches over us. This one sits with dignity in our living room, silent and calm. It is a cast metal Buddha brought to us after a trip my sister and brother-in-law, Akio, took to Japan many years ago. Akio’s father is Japanese and they had travelled to visit family, to see and experience the country. This gift also conjures up the idea of discovering another’s culture, people, ideas and art. Going to a place, vicariously for me in this case, that inspires an understanding of differences and similarities; offers a perspective of the world that expands our view. I suspect it was that in many ways for my sister, but this sacred object also served to open up a world that I hadn’t really considered. A gift that provided a window. To things both far away and near, known and unknown. A gift that offers more than what appears upon first glance, and is filled with wisdom. This Buddha represents wisdom, in many ways. It reminds me of the givers, a treasure in itself, but it also sheds a little light on the expansive nature of the sacred experiences we share as humans.
When Bryan turned forty, he received an unexpected package in the mail. When he opened it, there was within a picture unlike anything else we had. It was very special. Here was a signed print of a woodcut by Canadian artist Walter J. Philips. You may recall that I mentioned a giant book of plates by this artist in an earlier chapter, a book that represented so much to Bryan as a budding art lover in his teens. Here was an actual print, by the actual artist. He was stunned. Who else could have sent this astounding gift, but his beloved Aunt Liz? The story behind it is very personal, and not mine to share, but suffice it to say, this lovely little picture represents both heartache and love and needed a safe place to reside. A place where it could be treasured and appreciated, rather than triggering memories of the most difficult kind. We both consider this particular gift a loan. A temporary residency that will end when we are no more, with its return to Liz’s children. This gift is about so much care. Care for a family member – in both directions. Care for a history – difficult, yet valued. Care for a creator’s work – safely displayed where its beauty can be enjoyed. It speaks of very deep feelings. It is a gift of trust.
This final gift is one received very recently. This is the year of a pandemic. An unprecedented experience for most of us. All of us. A time where, I suspect, many are drawn to the need to evaluate what is most precious. As we have been required to give up a great deal, we have also been able to clearly see those that support us, those that offer what we need and those that bring us doses of joy and laughter in a time when so much is missing. This drawing represents all of that. We have been fortunate to have a small group of families with whom we’ve shared a thousand picnics. Or close to a thousand. We’ve cooked and shared. Baked and shared. Ordered take-out and shared. We’ve eaten in the snow, in the sunshine, on driveways, in parks, outside with electric blankets, with candles, with bug spray, and with hand sanitizer at the ready. We have consumed more bottles of prosecco and champagne than is usual – many a cork flying into gardens to be unearthed at some future date. Celebrating friendship. Celebrating this one thing that remains when so much else is simply gone. We have complained, laughed, vented, laughed, planned, laughed, lamented, laughed, conversed and… laughed. We've even sung together on occasion. This little group has been, and is, a lifeline. This past Christmas, our dear friend Marion commissioned Canadian artist Lisa Graziotto (also a dear one) to do a drawing for each of us. A homemade pizza for our fantastic pizza making family (Lou, you are the best). A bottle of prosecco for our lovely Barb – who has moved to New York City but is still a part of the gang (and we all count the days until we can visit her and that wonderful place). A view of my backyard where they all sat and listened to a mini piano recital one sunny June afternoon (through the open window – a bit of live music for Marion who is missing concerts so very much). And this picnic table. A simple, unassuming thing that has come to represent so very much. A gift of indescribable meaning. For all of us. For me. Friendship represented, this strange time captured. Its beauty, rather than its losses.
Artists work to tell us the stories of their creativity, of our lives, of the world we live in, of people and places, time and meaning. Receiving this kind of depth as a gift is quite remarkable. It is personal and filled with all kinds of emotion. These are not common types of gifts. They are special. They are extraordinary. And we hold them as such. They are our wealth. Not for their monetary value, but for the fullness of what they represent. These are things I love for many reasons. These are things that make me thankful.
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