I'd intended not to give away this lion, because Ina or maybe Nadin brought it from Germany as a gift for Sam or maybe Emma. Indeed, when Sam saw me stuff it into a box, along with its pal the tiger, he said "You're giving away my childhood!" But today was the day of our white elephant exchange at the Gardens, and I'd been thinking about all the folks there with little kids, and all the stuffed animals in baskets in the attic that no one ever plays with. We've seen Toy Story II as a family about 107 times, and of course I know it's not real. Nevertheless, there is something a little poignant about forgotten toys tucked away in the dark.The holiday party at the Arb & Gardens has included a white elephant exchange since time immemorial. Today was my tenth. Every year a couple people suggest that maybe our time could best be spent differently. A few years ago, we took a vote. They "ayes" had it.
For many years, there was a candle in the shape of a monkey with a wick sticking out of its fez hat. It migrated from staff person to staff person once a year like the Little Brown Jug, except the prize went to the loser. The monkey had tooth marks from when it spent the year at David's house and the dog mistook it for a chew toy. Finally it got so old, it completely disintegrated. It was replaced by another monkey, this one a block of wood posed like Rodin's Thinker. Somehow, the simian Thinker didn't make it into the game this year. We were monkey-free, and perhaps a little subdued as a result.
Are rituals like this just silly? Are they meaningful? Do they bind us together? Will we miss the white elephant exchange when we leave? Will we think of the candle monkey, and the edible panties and stuffed animals and used puzzles, and the neon santas and Holly Hobby table lamps and Chinese coasters, and the bottle rockets and Magritte lips and Jane Fonda LPs? When we think of these things, will we say, "I miss those folks?" or "Thank God I never have to go through that again?" Or both?
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