Day 350: It was one of our first Christmases together. My husband and I were still learning about each other, and errors of judgment when it came to gift-giving were inevitable. I had discovered to my dismay that Bruce was not an avid reader, for example, and he had figured out that stylish clothing was simply not my cup of tea. We both knew we were on safe ground when it came to gadgets and toys, so presents often took the form of weather instruments, electronics kits, puzzles and other useful but unnecessary things with which to fiddle. We stuck religiously to proscriptions regarding box-shaking and squeezing when specified lest we spoil a surprise, but many items were fair game for tantalizing examination. We often included materials meant to mislead in our wrapping: a few beans here or there, marbles, a bag of sand, anything to put the recipient off the scent of the real object.
After we had distributed our acquisitions under the tree, we observed a nightly ritual of rattling and prodding selected parcels. Bruce handed me a box which I held up to my ear and gave a gentle shake. "Can I rattle it harder?" I asked, and got the expected approval. My memory leapt back twenty years at the sound, but in an era of plastics, I knew that what I was recalling could not be. The words jumped out of my mouth although I was sure the product was no longer made. "That sounds like the little metal cash register bank I had when I was a kid!"
Bruce concealed his reaction beautifully. He made me wait to open it until Christmas morning, too.
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