It’s a simple looking thing. If you saw it in my home you might not give it a second glance. But I’m reminded it ranks high as kids quiet for the night and from the shelter of my room I hear water boiling and spoons tinkling. Brian is preparing two hot drinks to nestle in beside snacks I arranged on a plate that sits on my gift – a bamboo tray.
I liked the tray’s earthiness when I opened it a few Christmases ago but I never imagined it would anchor itself into my life. Not to serve guests, as I first considered – it found its place in our at home dates, like the one I now await.
And not just in the evenings. On mornings set aside for rest Brian rolls out of bed to fry eggs and steep tea. We eat a leisurely breakfast over my bamboo tray playing cards – if it’s Rook I win, Red Eleven, he wins. We’ve taken the cards to restaurants too but it’s the at home dates that, for me, form a mass of memories of togetherness. And it is the bamboo tray that transformed times at home into dates.
Brian surprised me with this gift (an accomplishment when you share an apartment) so I was caught off guard when he handed me yet another present of which I was unaware. I proceeded slowly, enjoying the moment. Lifting out one item at a time I found lemon stuffed olives, brie cheese, pesto (I didn’t even know it was available here) and dark chocolate. Items that, by us living in China, have been elevated to delicacies.
This date in a box was surprisingly similar to a gift I gave Brian before we were even engaged. Not the jacket that I found stylish but he cringed to wear, but the canister of cookies circling a mini apple pie (representations of my childhood Christmases left behind). I not only baked them but carried them onto a plane, leaving my family, so we could be together.
My hands trembled as I offered him my gift but as he opened it his look of awe filled me with fluttery contentment. I made him happy.
This was new to me: giving from deep within to someone I’d made plans to be with for the holidays. I hoped it would last. I hoped every season would be filled with such excitement.
That was the turn of the millennium, Y2K. We’ve spent every Christmas, nearly every day, together since and, as anticipated, we’ve made amazing memories. What I didn’t expect were the times when togetherness eluded us, when miscommunication and misplaced priorities pulled us apart, when we craved unity but didn’t know how to build a bridge.
We recognized our options: to drift farther apart or to anchor our relationship with trust. So we committed to listening: to each other and to friends who have gone before us. They spoke wisdom. We applied what we learned.
We haven’t arrived but we’ve proved commitment.
It takes effort to build memories and, as I await my husband, as I look at my bamboo tray so full of promise, I know the gifts I cherish are those that bring us together.