Hearing The Coyote Howl

My love language is acts of service. Nothing delights me more than having a fresh pot of coffee waiting for me at home after I finish 6:30 AM yoga or being surprised that my car had been washed while I was at work. Knowing that I’m being supported means more to me than receiving a gift.  However, I always feel a tinge of sadness during the holiday season because I spend 45 days furiously bowing and wrapping gifts while I rarely receive anything gift wrapped. It’s not the items that I miss but the experience of being delighted by discovering what’s beneath the paper. I yearn for the release of happy neurochemicals before the moment of revelation.

A few days before Christmas last year a former neighbor of mine, Cina, walked in with a tiny box adorned with blue and gold striped paper topped with a dreidel ornament and handed it to me. “A gift for me? The gift girl never gets gifts!”

I took my cherished present home and left it on the kitchen table knowing I’d save it to open on Chanukah. On Day 1 I couldn’t bring myself to tear the paper. Same for Day 2. Eight days passed and the little wrapped box remained untouched on the table.

Finally, the day after the holiday ended, I determined I should open it because Cina was probably wondering why I hadn’t thanked her. I slowly detached the tape and unfolded the paper to reveal a black gift box with white edges that only time could have frayed. I knew something special was being passed on to me.

I lifted the lid, removed the statement emblazoned with the artist’s name Tavlos, and discovered a tiny piece of jewelry. It was an enameled pin of a black and white striped coyote howling at a cerulean full moon. I then read Tavlos’ card that said his work is “birthed” from his experiences and his hope is that his art will “bring magic to the lives of others too.” I sat with this for a moment as I considered how my travels inform my curation and the joy I get when my finds are gifted.

Curious to learn more about him, I read online that he had been living in Santa Fe in the 80s when he lost his wife and stopped painting. Two years after she died, he was out on his veranda and heard a lone coyote howling one night. Then more chimed in. He felt like the animals were expressing the pain in his heart. With his grief eased, he returned to his studio the next day and began to paint coyotes.

I thanked Cina again for this treasured gift and explained why it took my so long to reach out. I told her about the “365 Days of Lovely Thoughts” notepad that lives on my kitchen table and that the quote for January 2nd read “Each day comes bearing its own gifts. Untie the ribbons. – Ruth Ann Schabacker

I asked Cina why she thought to gift the pin to me. She explained that when she was in his Santa Fe studio that she bought one pin for herself and a second to give away. She hadn’t found that person in almost 40 years, despite my living in the same building as her in the early 2000s. It just suddenly called out to her that I would be the lucky recipient. I joked that perhaps all the Beverly Hills Zone 6 posts warning about coyote sightings near my home prompted her to bestow it upon me.

I thought about writing about the pin but then the January 7 fires broke out. On the 8^th, I sat down with my dad to discuss what we would grab if we ever needed to pack a Go Bag. He didn’t want any of the treasured French art glass that he had collected with my mom. I kibbitzed if that meant that I could now ask our housekeeper Julia to help me clean it.

We decided that we wouldn’t take my great-grandmother’s porcelain floral teacups, our marathon race medals, or my mother’s ashes that are contained in a ceramic vessel that we built together. The coyote pin that was so precious to me 6 days earlier didn’t make the list either.

It made me realize that how we value things really depends on time. I’m thankful that my home is filled with souvenirs of experiences that remind me of moments of a life well lived and filled with love. If an earthquake destroys my home and my collection of ceramic swift birds in flight, I won’t lose the memories of countless evenings in southern Europe sipping Negronis. If we ever lost all the photos of my mom, we wouldn’t lose her because when you see me, you see Marlene.

Today is my mother’s 10^th yahrzeit and I realize that I’m holding on to merchandise from her old store because it’s a part of her passion and curation. Wine glasses and platters, still labeled with Tesoro price tags, could possibly be items that were once on a Palisades resident’s bridal registry. Perhaps, like the enamel pin came to me, now is the time to let the magic that’s been boxed up in my home for decades out and into my store for other people to enjoy.

I can hear the coyote howling and now it’s the moment to let go.