Confessions of a Frenzied Shopper (LynnK)

‘Tis the Season of Giving, which I love. And that means shopping, which I also love. But shopping for gifts . . . not so much.

Nothing is ever right. Nothing I can afford, anyway. What would it be like to spot something perfect for a special person and buy it without glancing at the price tag? A miracle, that’s what. I could work wonders with a ginormous bank account and plenty of time to browse.

I’ve got neither. Turns our my easiest and most favorite gifties are goats given to strangers. Well, usually one goat, and only if I can manage it. Otherwise, some chicks and some geese and some ducks. I’m hoping for a day to come when I can buy a water buffalo. This is all through Heifer International, and the animals help families in third-world countries to become self-sufficient. I love that project!

Meantime, I’ve got family and friends and, sometimes, people I hardly know to provide for. Not that they expect it. Or, given the quality of my gifts, even want it. What matters, I suspect, is the ritual sealing of a bond or the preservation of a tradition. Winter and all its associated festivals remind us how important it is to hold on to one another, to make a gesture of affection and respect, to say with a small gift or a great one, “I remember you. I want to keep you in my life. You are of value to me.”

It’s the thought that counts, they say. They meaning people like me who never come up with the right gift. I do try, though. Really hard. Even for gifts that will go into one of those “choose a package” games, where the one least likely to want my imaginative selection inevitably winds up with it. Lately, my spirit eroded by failure, I’ve been defaulting to chocolates or gift cards. Harmless. Impersonal. Not at all in the spirit of the season.

Then there are the parties with gift exchanges that have become traditional for the devil only knows what reason. For years and years, I belonged to a pair of groups like that. And in both groups, each of us brought to the Christmas Party a gift for every other member. About a dozen people per group. Do you know how hard that is? Then imagine how hard it becomes after a dozen years.

The best giftees are the collectors. One couple—in our monthly Gourmet Club, don’t ask, I can’t cook, it was a fluke—collected mortar/pestle sets (he was a pharmacist) and giraffes (she liked giraffes). By the time we all went our separate ways, there was hardly room in their house for another pestle, let alone a giraffe.

Then there was the neatnik guy nobody could buy for. He liked statistics and golf. One triumphant Christmas, I scored him something golfie from St. Andrew’s Auld Course. But mostly, we were all scrounging to please him. Then he announced that he’d decided to collect alligators.

Huh? “Why alligators?” asked we. He shrugged. “No reason. I just think I ought to collect something, so why not alligators?” Whereupon, he was deluged with alligators. I traveled a lot back then, so he got alligators from China, the Amazon, England, Ecuador, Argentina, anywhere I happened to go. Pretty soon, the alligators took over every space in his condo. And we were all happy to shower him with the beasties because year after year, we had an entire year to find a $#*&^*alligator!

When it’s family, though, or a friend I dearly love, I always try to find something both personal and appealing. What would this person want? Like that helps. Virtually all of my friends are able to buy (within reason) what they want. Whatever I think of, they already have.

So the question becomes, “What would this person want if he/she ever gave it a thought?” Or—for a friend I know very well—“What does this person think he/she wouldn’t like, but I’m betting otherwise.” I learned this technique from friends who’ve given me things I’d never considered or already turned up my nose at. An Ipod Shuffle. Videos of all the Buffy Episodes that feature Spike. A pedicure. They knew me better than I did. They are also better at diagnosing my secret (even to me) wishes. I wish I could do the same for them.

Today I’ll be out again, tracking the perfect gift for each special person. It will elude me. I’ll return home with sackfuls of hopeless, useless, well-intentioned presents. Because of my ineptitude, they will soon become contenders for Worst-Wrapped Gift of the Year.

Maybe it really is the thought that counts. I hope so. But I’d rather have an unlimited budget and lots of inspiration. Also a package-wrapper. My family and friends deserve better than they’re getting!