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those budding teens, many on their first big trip
without family. During that shopping stop, the stu-
dents paid Amish children $26 for painted horse-
shoes – at $1 apiece. They were really buying time
and conversation with their Amish counterparts.
Only a few of the trinkets on my tree were ac-
tually designed to be holiday ornaments: There's
the intricately painted porcelain globe from
Bratislava, the small wire Eiffel Tower, a miniature
ceramic flower-filled watering can from Butchart
Gardens in Victoria, British Columbia – and the
palm-sized David from the gift shop at the Ac-
cademia in Florence. There’s the hot-pink and iri-
descent-blue hammered-tin church from Santa Fe
– and the tiny lobster boat I found in Maine, after
spending a long weekend carousing with Linda
Greenlaw on Isle au Haut, where she skippers a
lobster boat and wrote two books: "The Lobster
Chronicles" and "All Fishermen Are Liars".
A pair of tiny fur Eskimo-style boots trans-
ports me back to Alaska where I went halibut fish-
ing with Sue Hobart, former travel editor at the
Portland Oregonian. We were skunked. Twice. But
we were determined. We canceled our flights
home – and found a skipper in Seward who'd never
been skunked. Her record still holds; Sue and I lim-
ited out. No, not all fishers are liars.
And finally, there are the ornaments that slow
me down, prompt languid, sleep-till-noon
thoughts: Starfish and sand dollars from the cen-
tral coast of Oregon where my husband and I es-
cape each winter to walk deserted beaches, read
novels, snuggle by a fireplace. We’ll do it again this
winter.
But first, our family will gather by the fireplace
at home on Christmas Eve. We’ll exchange gifts
fromunderthetree.Forme,thetreeitselfwillcount
as a gift: Among its twinkling lights, I’ll savor again
treasured remembrances of people and places
aroundtheworldthathaveenrichedmylifebeyond
measure.
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