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Destinations, Dreams and Dogs - International adventure with a fast-track family (& dogs) of Old World values, adopting the Russian-Italian-American good life on the go…!

The Thank You Note: Good Intentions Gone Awry

I believe in thank you notes.  It’s a dying art in certain circles, but I figure, if someone took the time to think of me, the least I can do is thank them.

Living a bit in the public eye, people do the kindest things for us.  One older gentleman brings us heaps of vegetables from his garden.  Another lady gifts us with more unusual items:  packet after packet of kasha (barley), and ginger roots, and gluten-free brownie mixes.  Friends who hear I may be out of town will bring Benedetto and the children a homecooked meal– which they should really be giving to me, lol.

After one of these nice gestures and a thank you note sent to a girlfriend, she informed me that my thank-yous might be mixed up.

“You gave us a thank you note for a ring, and we never gave you a ring,” she confided, concerned that I could be overlooking someone who had given me a ring.

“A ring?”  I blinked.  “My mind must really be going.  How could I say a ring?  Nobody has given me a ring!”  I tried to figure this out.

“I think I can read your handwriting,” she suggested, which could never be true if Bendetto wrote anyone, which is exactly his plan to keep from writing anyone.

“Yes, of course you can.  I have no idea,” I shook my head, slyly adding, “Now I feel bad that nobody did give me a ring-!”

While still puzzling about this mystery, we had a subplot to the same story occurring simultaneously.  In order to save the children from writing a dozen or so thank yous in the same day, I suggested that for family gifts, maybe this time, I would write the body of the note, and they could add one-line comments about it being delicious, or so thoughtful, or whatever might be an appropriate comment.

Sashenka was last to write on the card and it turned out quite cute.  She put it near my place at the kitchen table, but I intercepted it to show to their father, thinking that he would return it.  The next day, when we were due to see the man for whom we wrote the note, I realized that it was nowhere to be seen.

“Sashenka,” I asked, “where is the note for Mr. ______?”

“Oh! I left it at your place at the table.”

“Okay, we’ll have to give it to him another time.  I hate to forget him.  If you’re the last one to write on the card, just make sure you bring it, okay?”

“Yes, Mama.”

A while later, we were meeting and greeting at an event, and I shook the man’s hand.

“And thank you for that lovely card.  It was wonderful!” he exclaimed, tickled about the children’s comments.

“Oh, you’re welcome,” I said, trying to train my face not to show any surprise as to how a note that was left at home, could arrive out in public an hour later.

Or, could it be that yet another assembly-line thank you note became mixed-up and we had thanked the gentleman for something that had nothing to do with him?  Now I was really concerned.

Recounting the two thank you episodes to my husband, he chuckled.

“I gave the note to the man.”

“How did you get the note?  I thought she put it at my place at the table,” I puzzled.

“She did, but you handed it to me to read.  I thought you wanted me to give it to him,” he explained.

Folks, an overworked mind is not pretty.  Thank you notes may be pushing us (alright, me) over the edge.  At least we have good intentions and people know that their kind gestures are appreciated.

Thank you.  Thank you very much.




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