A gift of a week

It was Matthew’s birthday last week. With the focus on the double celebration the week before there was the risk that his day would be overlooked. No birthday list was forthcoming so Chantal had to do her own exploring to find suitable gifts for his day. Temu to the rescue.

Gifts ordered and fingers crossed that they would arrive in time, Chantal felt quite smug. She knew Matthew would be surprised.

When she was a child, birthday gifts were always a big deal. Not necessarily the gifts themselves but the whole ritual of getting and opening them. All four children would gather on their parent’s bed and the birthday boy or girl would reach under the bed where the gifts were hidden. As each one was opened the rest of the siblings would guess what was beneath the wrappings. These guesses were always outrageous and obviously incorrect.

“It’s a ball!” one sibling would yell at a flat, rectangular present.

It was never a ball, unless it actually was, and it elicited gales of laughter each time.

With her own children, the typical early morning rush drove the birthday gathering to the kitchen over breakfast. The gifts that were paraded on the table, rather than under it, were opened one by one, to silly guesses and hoots of laughter.

Piles of gifts

Matthew’s gifts arrived well before his day along with other orders that both of us had placed. They served as a useful cover for Chantal who whisked Matthew’s away into a dark cupboard, all wrapped and ready to be given.

On the morning of his birthday, Chantal slipped out of bed, checked that Matthew was awake enough and piled the gifts on the covers.

A pair of tracksuit pants, “I hope they fit. They should fit.”

Three more pairs of exercise shorts, with zip up pockets, “I hope they fit too. I’m sure they will.”

Thermal socks. “Now maybe you won’t need to wear two pairs of normal socks to mitigate the cold.”

A small metal bird bath with a solar powered fountain. “This needs to go in direct sunlight. For the garden that you work so hard at.”

The pants and shorts did fit. The socks held up on a particularly biting day. The bird bath spluttered under cover and then spurted gaily as the sun brightened.

Later Tristan arrived with his signature lemon meringue pie. He made it specially for his dad using lemons from our tree. The meringue crown weaved and waved splendidly as our mouths watered. Tea was made and slices cut for everyone. Huge, decadently sweet and heavenly delicious yellow and white.

“You really have a gift,” commented Bentley, visiting specifically to have tea and cake and to wish Matthew.

“Well it’s a present for my Dad,” Tristan replied. He pretended to wave the compliment away but grinned all the same.

The gifts kept on coming

The gifts kept on coming. On Friday our UK partner, also Matthew (Bushell), notified us that the UK trade mark for Shape of Emotion™ had come through. On top of this he had earlier confirmed his flights to South Africa in September. After years of online meetings and engagements, we are finally going to meet him in person!

Glancing through his numerous WhatsApp groups an advert for home made marmalade burst onto Matthew Green’s screen. Marmalade, his favourite. Made right here in Linden with Rex Union oranges, which are a rare endangered heritage South African fruit. He ordered a jar on the spot. Delicious it certainly was, coating the hot buttered toast with the perfect balance of bitter and not-so-sweet. Yum!

On the work front there were more surprises. Matthew found a more efficient way to work with his preferred AI “partner”, Claude, sometimes referred to as “idiot” when it goes rogue. Claude had been acting up quite frequently reproducing garbage and not following instructions. Can you believe that? AI not following instructions? The mind boggles.

AI is never going to take over the world, we are more certain of that than ever, but right now we would like it to at least work as it is supposed to. We have a cracking project to deliver and Claude needed to come to the party.

Matthew changed his approach, he dumbed things down and made more bite-sized requests. It worked. Thrilled and relieved, the work could continue.

“Have you saved it?” asked Chantal, her ongoing contribution to the project.

A bright display

We have a beautiful display cabinet inherited from Chantal’s folks when they moved and did not have space for it. It sits in a corner of the lounge close to the fireplace. Matthew filled it with his collection of figurines but it was hard to see them in the low light.

We arranged some pretty fairy lights inside but it was not a sustainable solution. Matthew had an idea inspired by his brother, and, together with Clive, our trusty handy man, they installed some strip LED lighting that plugs into the wall. The cabinet shone with warm illumination, the contents inside were now easy to see.

“Now we can make a story with the collections,” remarked Chantal looking at the tiny and not so tiny arrangement and imagining the tales they would tell Leah about the characters inside.

What a difference it made to the room, too.

“Now all I need is the picture lights for the Oscar posters on the far wall,” she continued, inspired by the shining corner cupboard.

A gift of a week

We sat at our favourite table in a quickly filling favourite restaurant on Saturday morning. Matthew had some gifts of his own for the staff: Springbok t-shirts for them to wear on match days. We looked forward to seeing them flying the Bok “flag”.

“I hope they fit,” he said, as he handed them over to the head of staff.

“They’ll fit,” was the smiling reply.

“What a gift of a week,” said Matthew as he stirred his cappuccino. “Makes me think of the movie ‘Like Father’ we watched on the night of my birthday. Seth Rogan’s character says to Kirsten Bell:

“Yesterday is history. Tomorrow is a mystery. Today is a gift. That’s why we call it ‘The Present‘” – It’s a well known saying and a bit of a cliché but this week felt full of gifts for me.”

It was a gift of a week in so many ways. So many gifts given and received and not just for the birthday. Gifts of time and presence from those who popped in. Gifts of words and thoughts from those who sent wishes.

The gift of letting Leah taste lemon meringue for the first time in her little life. It was only a teaspoon – so much sugar. Of course she loved it. Everyone does.

The gift of vicariously following Judson and his dad as they rediscovered London and lived their dream at a live Judas Priest concert thanks to Instagram and Whatsapp.

Life is a gift, not always wrapped in brightly coloured paper or secured with a bow. If we live intentionally and don’t worry too much about whether it’s a ball or a puzzle, life may surprise us with presents and presence.

Until next time.

Yours in feeling,
Chantal & Matthew

Credits for this issue — Images: 5th Place