I buy my gifts as if the whole world was available; I just have to look where my hand is about to reach.
Then I know for whom it is too.
So when it is a heart-shaped mirror, it must be sis.
But she is spending her Christmas and months around it in Peru.
After a consultation with my father I leave it gift-wrapped on top of her mail pile that is waiting for her at our parents’ house.
A few days before she is bound to return to this hemisphere for now, mom writes: “What is this heart-shaped mirror that I found on the shelf?”
“Wrap it back, mom. Not for you! Don’t you and dad ever talk?” Dad feigns ignorance and low recollection powers, he must have been on computer.
When sis returns, she must have opened it because she writes, with a heart:
“Oh, just to inform you that as I was packing to return, my old little mirror broke.”
“Sorry about that, had to do it,” I reply.
While in reality it was good luck knocking. I had merely known it would.
And these are some other, Niki’s hearts from my yesterday’s visit to Il giardino dei tarocchi. Next time we go together.