Beech Tree News Network

I saw a story on the news about a man who gave his wife a card every day for years—most he made himself.  She had boxes full.  They were filed under years then months of the year then individual weeks of the month.  It was an amazing collection.  I wondered if she had long ago grown tired of it all, but just didn’t know how to tell him.  She really needed a card that would explain it.
    In our family, we give each other cards for all kinds of occasions; well, all of us, except our youngest daughter, Nikki.  She thinks cards are artificial expressions of sentiment and sees no point in signing her name to something she didn’t write or draw, for that matter.  She never bought the whole “it’s the thought that counts” thing.  For her, that’s just malarkey.  She calls or texts on birthdays or other special occasions.  Once, I gave Nikki a card she liked.  I know because she saved it.  On the front of the card was a red-haired girl swimming in the ocean with whales, dolphins and a narwhal.  I framed the card, and it still hangs in the hall outside my bedroom.
    I’ve framed a few other cards, mostly cards with quotes like, “It is never too late to be what you might have been” or “Come celebrate with me that every day something has tried to kill me and has failed.”  I know the words weren’t written specifically for me, but the words resonate with me, and I take them as my own.
    This year, Garey got me the same Mother’s Day card he bought me last year.  He realized this when he went to hide the card in his hiding place on the closet shelf between the Tetley Tea can filled with coins and the Planter’s peanut can that houses his stash of chocolate-covered nuts.  (Any wife worth her salt knows her husband’s hiding place.)  When he went to put the card there, he found last year’s card he’d bought but had forgotten he’d bought.  He gave me another card for last year’s Mother’s Day.  I framed one of the two identical cards and hung it in my dining room.  I did this because there is a picture of a beautiful humming bird on the face of the card, plus it serves as a reminder to Garey that he already bought the card, twice.
    My daughter, Natalie, and I often buy cards for my granddaughter, Sabria, to give to people, but most of the time, we let her pick out her own.   She gave Nikki a Saint Patrick’s Day card for her engagement party.  Nikki loved it, which was a feat of epic proportions.  Sabria is a card person from way back.  On her first birthday, my sister, Marsha, sent Sabria a musical card that played the theme song to Winnie the Pooh.  She carried it with her everywhere, and even slept with the card.  I didn’t think that stupid battery would ever run down.
    If Sabria goes with me to any place that sells cards, I make a conscious effort to avoid that aisle, because I know we won’t get out of there unless she has a card in her hand.  Recently, she went with me to the post office to mail a package.  It was a couple of days before Garey’s birthday.  I had already bought a card for Sabria to give to him.  As a matter of fact, Natalie, unaware that I bought a card, had also bought a card for Sabria to give to him.  When we went to mail the package, I had forgotten the post office sells cards.  Sabria hadn’t.  She made her selection while I was addressing the package. 
    “This is the card I want to give to Papa,” she said.
    The card had a picture of a large dog wearing large glasses.  It was perfect.  She knew it and she knew I knew it, and sure enough, Garey loved it.  It lived on our dining room table for a week, and every time I walked by, I laughed.
For me, cards are like songs in the sense that there are a times when you know what you mean, but you just don’t know how to say it.  They serve as translators, interpreters, explainers, and at times, even intercessors.  They say, “Maybe, you already know this, but just in case you don’t” or “this is what I meant to say” or “you make me laugh, like a dog wearing big funny glasses.”