Daylight Saving Time is still beating me up, and Gerry is worn out from a hike so we decide to turn in early. By the time I arrange my pillows for optimum reading comfort, and move things around on my bedside table so everything is in easy and familiar reach, he’s already in bed reading. I toss back my covers and reveal a white tissue paper wrapped bundle.
My husband doesn’t say anything, he just offers a subtle smile as I pick up the package and open unfold the tissue paper.
Recall that we spent a bit of time poking around the bookstore yesterday afternoon. While we were there, I pointed out to him the leather-bound journals that I’m smitten with. I wouldn’t buy for one myself because they’re expensive, but I always visit them when I’m there.
Now, unwrapped and in my hand, is a beautiful, leather-bound journal. I run my hands over the soft brown leather cover. I unwrap the cord, open the journal, and fan the lined pages. I lift the book to my nose and smell the rich leather; it reminds me of barns and saddles and history.
I’m blown away. I can’t imagine a more perfect and thoughtful gift—that it’s unexpected, and for no reason at all, makes it all the more precious.
You can have your Valentine Days, and birthday celebrations, and other hyped-up Hallmark occasions. I’ll take an unexpected, just because, thoughtful gift like a leather-bound journal over any of those. This beautiful book makes me feel loved in a way that’s hard to explain—even more than a pair of slippers did many years ago.
But that’s a story for another day.