the gift within a gift

I’ve been reading a book called The Gift, by Lewis Hyde. The first couple of chapters have a lot of insights about gifts as seen through various cultures’ practices and folk tales. It’s been affecting the way I see things.

Today, while I was at work, my friend Alan brought me lunch. He works next store to Eddie’s and manages the property on the street. Every now and again, he gets generous with his (fresh/local/homemade) food and brings something over for me to try. It’s kind of uncomfortable for me, honestly, because Alan doesn’t do this for Eddie or for my co-worker (as far as I know), and I haven’t really ever reciprocated these small gifts except by offering a listening ear. On the other hand, I feel really loved when he does this, and that’s weird, too, because a lot of people do really great things for me, but this, from Alan, just seems especially extravagant for some reason.

So it was that when we closed the shop early, I stepped over to Alan’s store, a deep, messy den full of armoires, old light fixtures, and beds covered in faded quilts and piled high with century-old books. Corelle plates in hand, I headed to the workshop at the very back to return the goods. Two other antique guys from the street were in the shop with a couple of beers, and I stood there with them for a couple of minutes while they talked about the many uses for gilded hand fixtures. Then the two left and Alan kept me in conversation.

And I was willing. I like keeping up on what Alan does, because though he’s a property manager and spends a lot of time doing little stuff he doesn’t like, on the whole, he’s an artist. He loves doing good, beautiful work that serves a purpose. And he’s generous with what he does.
That was the greatest part about his monologue today. He told me that although he works with furniture from the 1700’s worth thousands of dollars, with intricate carvings, his favorite thing to do is to do what is useful, and to make beautiful things to give away.

There was an anecdote about an armoire he worked on, years ago. In 18th-century France, it was given to a couple as a wedding gift, which one could conclude from a carving of nesting birds, and the bride’s name and wedding date engraved into the wood. A customer wanted to have the doors taken off and used to cover their refrigerator’s doors, but also to have the carving stripped and pickled. Alan refused to do the job, on principle that it was a piece of art and history, a gift, and meant a great deal to someone long ago. To chop it up beyond recognition just to make money would be wrong.

The way Alan lives and this story gave life to what I took away from the first chapters of The Gift. When you receive a gift, it only retains life if you continue a cycle of giving. Gifts shouldn’t be put away or sold to be invested for personal profit. Alan has received the amazing gift of working with his hands. He shares his work with others freely, giving joyfully of what he makes. Instead of looking for another way to make a buck, he instead invests in the pleasure of others. I think that’s beautiful.