St. Nick

There is a little more to my love of shoes than the average female aficionado. Growing up, a pair of shoes became the catalyst for a soled cornucopia worth of gifts on the eve of December 5th every year. In the middle of the night, because we were German (not Irish), St. Nicholas would stop by our house to fill up the pair of shoes we each left outside of our room with presents.

They were always the most thoughtful little gifts too: A Christmas CD to complement our burgeoning collection (such treasures as Peabo's, Mariah's and Celine's Christmases were all unwrapped on the morning of December 6), St. Moritz chocolates (St. Nick must have swung by the store near my Mom's office), an ornament that was meant especially for us, a novel for Erin, a pair of wide receiver gloves for my brother, and a little piece of jewelry for me. St. Nick was also kind enough to leave two oranges in my parents shoes. I loved that.

I can still remember sitting outside my room in our Bartlett Street house, doing a quick benchmark of the number of chocolates in Erin's shoe. Then Adam's shoe. Okay, even. Feeling a little bad that all my parents received were pieces of citrus fruit. And knowing that there was something extra special about my family in this moment that we all shared in close proximity to each other in the hallway at the top of the stairs.     

This morning, I woke up and realized that I had forgotten to put my shoes out. I thought how terrible - St. Nicholas must have passed right over our house - he was going to think that we didn't believe.

But when I walked downstairs and looked around, I saw him everywhere.

There was something for the Brewer ...

And something more for the Bee.

There was something for our little one ...

There was something for Peter.

And something for me.

And on a whim, when I set out our little lady's first pair of shoes today, just to see what would happen, St. Nick brought her an ornament - her very first one.  

Today, I'm reminded that whether its in a caring friend, a loving Aunt, a hearty lumberjack or a merry crossing guard, St. Nicholas exists all year long in all the wonderful people that touch your life. And it's my job, to follow their thoughtful and generous lead and be a little St. Nick to the people that I love as well.

Lo.