It’s thank you note season again.

I have been shamed.

I received a Christmas gift from an old friend in another state. V has the most amazing sense of what would make me happy and what would make me laugh. Last year she sent me a solar queen. The blue-suited figure has a solar-powered queenly wave.  This year she sent a thoroughly modern scarf hand-knit by one of her beloved volunteers at the senior center where she works. Plus a wind-up Miss Liberty Hula. (A shout out to Big Fun in Cleveland Hts, OH.) The queen and Miss Liberty Hula sit on my book shelf next to my Texas-shaped chili bowl, with dividers for onions, crackers and cheese.

I wrote a thank you note. Really, I did. It sits with all the other mail I need to answer on the sideboard in my dining room. I wrote it two weeks ago, but have not yet stamped the envelope and dropped it in the mail. I got an email from her last night concerned that I had not received the gift. The temptation to reply: didn’t you receive my thank you note; it must be lost in the mail. My sheepishly honest reply: I’m sorry!

I comfort myself with the fact that in early December Fred and I received a thank-you note from Julianne for a birthday gift sent in August.

But then, Julianne is thirteen.

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