I'm Maggie Smith, and this is the slowdown.

Between Father's Day and birthdays, summer is full of celebrations in my family.

And I don't think I'm alone in feeling like gift giving can be tricky business.

When you find the just right present for someone you love, it feels like a real triumph,

concert tickets to see their favorite band, or a signed copy of a beloved book, or earrings that you

just know they'll want to put on as soon as they open the box.

It's a good feeling to stumble on something in a shop or at a flea market and just know who in

my life needs to have it. But sometimes I'm at a loss. What if I choose wrong? What if I pick something that doesn't quite communicate

my feelings for the person, or if I simply misread their taste? Just when I start to get into my

own head, I remind myself that the cliche is true. It's the thought that counts. It's the care,

the intention that counts. When someone brings you a little notebook home from a stationary

store they visited, or writes you a heartfelt letter, or makes you a playlist that reminds you of

happy times you've spent together, you can feel the care.

Every Mother's Day, my kids make me homemade cards and pieces of art, and I look forward

to them all year. I'd rather have a handwritten note that says,

thanks for being so easy to talk to, than anything they could buy at a store.

Today's poem speaks to how subjective gifts like poems can be.

Sometimes all we need to do is see the gift through the giver's eyes.

We need to appreciate that person's care and intention.

Come to think of it, perspective is a gift all its own.

Valentine for Ernest Man

By Naomi Shihab Nye

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