One dollar and eighty-seven cents.
And so it is, that even after probably a hundred readings, Gifts of the Magi still does not fail to make me cry. I'd been wanting to re-read the short story since I finished up Emily Giffin's Baby Proof which was a cute, meandering piece of chick lit fluff that I quite enjoyed and read in about four hours. Towards the end, Baby Proof repeatedly references Gifts of the Magi, and so tonight I re-read it and a half hour later, I'm still crying.
It's all happy tears, for the most part. The story brings up so many warm, fuzzy memories. Every Christmas Eve, after church, my parents and I would come home, I'd change into my Christmas pajamas, and then we'd read both 'Twas the Night Before Christmas and Gifts of the Magi before bed. For a long time the latter was kind of a bummer, because it's kinda long, you know when you're nine. But as I got older, I grew to appreciate the story more and more. It tends to remind me of my parents when they were first married, young and poor. One of the best stories about their early years of marriage is that my dad, working as a waiter in a French restaurant , would bring home food scraps for their two cats, Goldie and Snowflake. It got to the point that the cats could identify the sound of his car driving down the street and would run to the door to wait for him to get home. The cats would dine on filet mignon and my parents would be eating peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. Like Della and Jim, my parents did the best they could with what they had.
And so while my tears tonight are mostly happy, reading this story reminds me of a piece of my life that's absent. All the jokes, all the self-deprecating remarks can't hide forever the fact that I'm kind of lonely. I still don't know a whole lot of people here, let alone people my age, I'm really far away from my family, and I'm at a point in my life where although I'm not ready to start a family, I'm ready to stop going on bad first dates. When I look at my good friends, it's funny. We all seem to have something, and want what someone else has at the same time. I know I joke about finding a rich husband (I once famously joked at work that I'd marry our photocopier if it started printing out money, Mr. Curator noted that it actually could keep me warm at night and provide me with a lifestyle to which I could become accustomed) but when all is said and done, I'd like to have someone to go to the movies with, or read the Sunday paper with, or start making plans with.
There is some potential out there. Someone I work with maybe -- I'm proceeding with caution on that front. That doesn't scream "long term" to me so much as "Eh, why not?" And then a guy I'll just call Mr. Darcy for now -- friend of a friend who may have some potential. Apparently he injured himself jumping on a table after reading the Longfellow "Midnight Ride of Paul Revere" poem. Seriously. Anyone who gets that excited about poetry? Just might be my Mr. Darcy.
Oh, and I want to mark this down about my day: I totally had a Towanda! moment today. It involved a garbage disposal and some mini chocolate donuts. It was awesome.
It's all happy tears, for the most part. The story brings up so many warm, fuzzy memories. Every Christmas Eve, after church, my parents and I would come home, I'd change into my Christmas pajamas, and then we'd read both 'Twas the Night Before Christmas and Gifts of the Magi before bed. For a long time the latter was kind of a bummer, because it's kinda long, you know when you're nine. But as I got older, I grew to appreciate the story more and more. It tends to remind me of my parents when they were first married, young and poor. One of the best stories about their early years of marriage is that my dad, working as a waiter in a French restaurant , would bring home food scraps for their two cats, Goldie and Snowflake. It got to the point that the cats could identify the sound of his car driving down the street and would run to the door to wait for him to get home. The cats would dine on filet mignon and my parents would be eating peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. Like Della and Jim, my parents did the best they could with what they had.
And so while my tears tonight are mostly happy, reading this story reminds me of a piece of my life that's absent. All the jokes, all the self-deprecating remarks can't hide forever the fact that I'm kind of lonely. I still don't know a whole lot of people here, let alone people my age, I'm really far away from my family, and I'm at a point in my life where although I'm not ready to start a family, I'm ready to stop going on bad first dates. When I look at my good friends, it's funny. We all seem to have something, and want what someone else has at the same time. I know I joke about finding a rich husband (I once famously joked at work that I'd marry our photocopier if it started printing out money, Mr. Curator noted that it actually could keep me warm at night and provide me with a lifestyle to which I could become accustomed) but when all is said and done, I'd like to have someone to go to the movies with, or read the Sunday paper with, or start making plans with.
There is some potential out there. Someone I work with maybe -- I'm proceeding with caution on that front. That doesn't scream "long term" to me so much as "Eh, why not?" And then a guy I'll just call Mr. Darcy for now -- friend of a friend who may have some potential. Apparently he injured himself jumping on a table after reading the Longfellow "Midnight Ride of Paul Revere" poem. Seriously. Anyone who gets that excited about poetry? Just might be my Mr. Darcy.
Oh, and I want to mark this down about my day: I totally had a Towanda! moment today. It involved a garbage disposal and some mini chocolate donuts. It was awesome.