It'll nearly be like a picture print from Currier and Ives

I open a notebook to last year's Christmas list. Written in blue ink in my hand is a gift list in order of hierarchy: Dad, Mom, my brother, my sister, niece, nephew, friends, colleagues. Check marks by each one. It's the only way I know how to shop, list in hand. Seeing last year's list, I can tell you that if you're a list-maker, it's hard to face the particular detail on paper of reducing your family recipients by one.

I've bought all the gifts now, and am blissfully finished with my shopping two weeks before Christmas. But my wrecked heart can't help but unravel the thought at the seam with the feeling that something is missing. It's asks, What are you going to get Dad? My heart can't help it. This is new.

What about that red canoe at Orvis?

I've had my eye on it for years.

I drive past the store and glance over at the building. I wish I had reason to go inside. I think about going in for, well, not for the fun of it, but to look at the canoe a while. To be near it and think about when he changed his favorite color from blue to red, and we scrambled for red gifts. But a red canoe, that was a find.

The gift that was never given.

These wonderful things are the things we remember all through our lives.