At one point during my parent’s last Thanksgiving visit, Jane ran up to me and said, “Mom! Grandpa and Grandma are going diving for black pearls next week! In the ocean!” and charged off again.
Five minutes later, Dad walked into the kitchen.
“Hey, Dad. Jane says you and Mom are going deep sea pearl diving next week.”
“That’s not true,” he said. “We’re going in early February.”
And they did.
Or my the package that arrived yesterday, addressed to Jane, Sunny, Sarah, and Watson Wesson.*
Inside, were these:
Jane and Sunny both received a long string of pale shells and a mother-of-pearl teardrop. The exquisite cowrie shell is Watson’s. And my gift is the flower—a hibiscus, maybe?—with the beautiful black pearl.
We were collectively overwhelmed. The children had to be forcibly removed from their finery at bedtime and Janie put eyeprints all over my pendant.
It’s supposed to snow today, but my parents have given us a little French Polynesian warmth to hold us until Spring.
And I got a blog post out of it!
Now, that’s generosity.
*Watson was surprised, but she wasn’t aware of my parents’ tendency towards spontaneous, unofficial adoptions.