AA Gifts & Baskets Idea Blog

Archive for July, 2007

That, she said, was when I knew it was over.

We were sitting in the bar. It was late on a Friday night. It was cool and dark in the bar and the overhead lights dimly reflected on the granite counter-top. She was drinking wine.

The first gift he gave me, she said, was a bracelet. It was really very lovely; it was very sweet of him. It wasn’t my birthday, or our anniversary. He just did it and I thought it was a wonderful thing to do.

She sipped her wine. She was lovely and it amused me to watch people in the bar watch her. Sometimes they tried to be covert about it but some of them just stared.

Often they stared because they were certain they recognized her. You could see them turn to a friend, without taking their eyes off of her, and you could see them saying: isn’t that - she’s that actress, the woman who does the weather, the sports, that commercial.

None of it was true. It was funny but she didn’t like it at all. It made her uncomfortable.

Once, she said, I had come from the gym; I was downtown, standing on a traffic island, waiting for a green light. A woman was standing next to me. She kept staring at me. Finally she said: Can I have your autograph?

I looked at her and said she was mistaken; I’m not anyone famous.

The woman insisted and I told her she was wrong and then she said: Why are you being a liar? You’re that Basic Instinct woman, and I don’t see why you have to be so rude.

I laughed but it wasn’t that funny.

I had been with her once when the same thing happened. We were walking into a restaurant and everyone stopped what they were doing. Then someone dropped a glass. In the silence it was very loud.

She ignored it. But in her eyes it was clear to me that she knew exactly what was happening.

I had taken photographs of her. I put them up in the window of the camera store I was working for. I watched people stop and stare at the photographs.

In the bar, I overhead a waiter talking to a friend of his. He was talking about her.

That’s her, he said, the woman in the photos. I told you she was someone.

I told her about it and she smiled, shyly.

You see, she said, everyone believes that because I look a certain way, I am someone else, and not who I really am; and if I looked a different way, they still wouldn’t see me.

Well, I said, what was the second gift he gave you?

She paused and looked down at the reflections on the bar-top. She looked back at me.

He gave me an oil lamp.

An oil lamp?

Yes.

Well, not very interesting but, not terrible.

He said it was so I could illuminate myself and see in the dark.

I think you see just fine, I said.

She smiled.

Thank you, she said, what better gift than the truth of seeing someone for who they are?

My aching, aging body enjoys a good therapeutic massage. However, massages are expensive and fall into the "luxury" category of most people’s budgets, including my own. So I don’t treat myself very often.

My adult daughters know this. When I scheduled a cruise on a gorgeous, glitzy ship, they gave me a generous gift certificate for the luxurious spa aboard the boat. I don’t know if I was more excited about the journey or the spa, but the departure date finally arrived and I boarded the liner.

On the third day of the cruise, I scheduled some services in the spa. When I arrived for my appointment, I was given a plush robe and asked to wait in a spacious room overlooking the ocean at the stern of the ship. The view was breathtaking, and as I sat in my comfy chair, I marveled at the fact that I was actually there.

Each treatment room had a picture window so clients had a gorgeous view of the ocean. I felt as if I were in a suspended state away from all my earthly cares as the massage therapist worked on me. Then it was time for my facial. The spa personnel use only the finest therapy oils and creams. In fact, you can only purchase them in the cruise ship spas. I felt like "Queen for a Day" as I received my facial treatment. Then I relaxed some more in the beautiful waiting room and watched the wake behind the ship as we sailed to our destination. I will never forget that experience and I am forever grateful to my daughters for providing it for me.

My daughters were thrilled that I enjoyed my spa experience so immensely. They decided that spa certificates made fantastic gifts. So, they gave me additional gift certificates for various special occasions for use at a luxurious spa not far from my home.

Outside, the facade of the building was made of stunning brick and stone. When I entered the spa, I was in an atrium with a cathedral ceiling and striking beams overhead. A waterfall ran down the side of one of the stone walls. Again, I felt like I was in a special place, far from earth. I was given a comfy warm robe (it was winter) and asked to wait in the beautiful atrium. Each treatment room was well-appointed with a relaxing atmosphere and aroma therapy wafting throughout the space. I enjoyed another wonderful therapeutic massage and facial from therapists who obviously enjoyed their work.

I feel fortunate that I have adult children who care about me enough to give me such wonderful, thoughtful gifts. Through their generosity, I experienced luxury and wonderful spa treatments I could not have provided for myself.

How would a business prosper and grow without employees? Simply put, it couldn't. One person cannot handle every role of a business yet expect it to grow and succeed without employees.

Employees are the glue that holds a business together, and the success of any sector of your business leads back to these individuals. However, success is created with the help of "motivated" employees.

How does one motivate employees? First and foremost, the business owner should have good leadership skills and these skills are not developed overnight but through the course of education and experience.

Motivation can be different for each individual employee. Where one employee might be motivated by money, another might be motivated by job security.

Motivational tactics may need to be refined for each individual employee. A business owner should find out what their employees want and find a way to give it to them or enable them to earn it.

Here are some suggestions that may help you to motivate your employees:

• Communicate with employees. Take the time to talk with them and listen to them, whether it be work-related or personal.
• Create an inspiring workplace and encourage creativity and open thinking.
• Promote teamwork.
• Create opportunities for workers to further develop their skills.
• Allow employees to participate in decisions pertaining to the business, if and where applicable.
• Design an incentive program that may include compensation benefits, non-compensation benefits or a combination of both.
• Give employees challenging tasks.
• Create goals that each employee should strive to attain.

Motivating employees may not be an easy task and often times it is a matter of trial and error to decide which tools work the most.

There are many other things that a business owner can do to motivate in addition to the above. However, the one thing that a business owner should never forget to do is to praise his/her employees and say "Thank You" for a job well-done. Individuals thrive on praise and appreciation and it certainly is one motivational tool that should be practiced in any business.

We have a beautiful selection of thank you gift baskets perfect for employee appreciation and thanking these individuals for their hard work and dedication. Your employee(s) will appreciate your thoughtfulness!

Motivate and appreciate are the key to employee loyalty! Don't forget how your business would be without your employees. Thank Heavens for Employees!

While playing a little basketball with family and friends, I became tangled with another player and soon discovered that one of my most prized possessions had gone missing. Massaging my left ear, I called a time out, hoping to locate a Valentine’s Day gift that helped me cope with a disturbing, painful event in my life.

Taking baby steps over every inch of the court, we began to survey the area where my gift may have fallen. I felt my heart grow heavy as the marbled concrete gave me a headache, as well as deflated my hopes of ever recovering my gift. To make matters worse, the ground was pierced with a rippled crack, where if anything fell into this abyss, it was quite unlikely you would be able to recoup your loss. Seconds turned into minutes, which felt like hours. My heart raced as time passed. Did it fall into the crack? Did it roll into the grass? Was it crushed under the feet of my heaving, tired companions?

Out of nowhere, a 15-year-old muttered the words that every person, who has lost something, loves to hear: "I found it!" His strong, long fingers pinched my diamond and pearl earring with careful delicateness. A large weight lifted from my shoulders. As I placed the earring back into its rightful position, I resumed playing the game, eyeing my boyfriend to remind him of what a close call that was.

Flashing back, I began to recount the history of this gift. I was in the middle of my first semester of graduate school when a routine check-up turned into the scare of a lifetime. I twisted my knee and had an X-ray done to make sure everything was all right. When the doctor returned, her face was plastered with regretful concern. She told me I had a tumor eating away at the bone below my kneecap. What are the chances of that? I then had the tumor scraped out and replaced with artificial bone filler, but afterwards, an allergic reaction and infection developed. My leg and thigh area swelled to the point that you could press my skin and leave behind indentations. I was hospitalized for weeks, missing important school events and class work, which made me unbearably miserable. The infection also prolonged the amount of time I would need to use crutches, which was really going to put a damper on my upcoming Valentine’s Day.

But, my boyfriend was able to bypass my gloomy disposition with one of the sweetest gifts, mainly because it was so unexpected. When it came to gift giving, my boyfriend wasn’t the type to provide an element of surprise. For every holiday, I basically knew what I was already getting and most of the time it wasn’t even wrapped. Also, a lot of things beyond my medical ordeal were occurring all at one time. I was touched that my boyfriend was able to take time out and pick out a special gift.

I’ve always seen pearls as a vulnerable gemstone with the potential to chip or become crushed, whereas the diamond has a reputation for being strong enough to cut through glass. For me, the earrings are important because they are a daily reminder of the strength, as well as fragility of life.

You were in the right place at exactly the right time. It was Los Angeles, 1967. You were a student at UCLA. A moment in time; a convergence of all the right elements. You told me the story as if you were some later-day Homer recounting tales of a brave, psychedelic Ulysses returning from Troy on his way to Ithaca via the crazy shortcut of Sana Monica Boulevard and every night club in the city.

Yes, you said, wistfully, intoxicated on the memory, Los Angeles; plugged in, electric- overdrive, maximum and perfect.

You were eighteen. Your roommate asked you to help move some equipment for a band - well, he said, the lead singer is a film major, or was; he’s a strange character. His father is an admiral in the navy - at least, that’s the story. You should meet him though, he’s amazing.

So, you went and helped move the amps, and the tape decks and a few guitars. The guys in the band paid no attention to you because you were just another one of the kids hanging out; they came and went and one was as good or interesting as another and the band was just too busy with itself, with the impossible energy of becoming a legend, a myth. That’s how you described it and it was clear you had never recovered from it. You spoke all through the night telling the story of how you met them - how you met him.

Jim, you said, as if to say, hero. And no, you said, you would not see the movie - that movie. It’s all false, you said. You reached for a battered metal box; the kind someone would keep fishing tackle in, or baseball cards. You opened it and pulled out a piece of paper. It was ordinary, onion skin typing paper. You don’t see it much anymore in this age of computers. It was a relic, a buried treasure and you looked at as if you were reliving every moment and as if you were there with Carter as he opened the sealed door to King Tut’s tomb.

Jim, you said, could never reconcile himself to his fame, to his own legend.

It’s hard to have heroes, you said, but it’s harder still to know them.

Los Angeles then was a magical place and everything didn’t seem possible - everything was possible and everything seemed to be happening all the time. But then the money and everything else came in and it all went away.

You were, I saw clearly, speaking like a jilted lover. That was it, exactly. You were a man who had lived one great, true, epic romance with a moment in time and then, as is always the case, it went away. You caressed the paper. Then, quickly, because you had decided, you closed the lid to the box and it shut with a creaking metallic snap and in the next motion, the next instant you handed me the piece of paper.

Across the top, in pencil: The Horse Latitudes. Below that: J. Morrison.

I don’t know if it’s authentic but you were genuine, and that’s what mattered; the gift was the story, that moment in time, recounted as if we were gathered around some electric camp fire, listening to a story of heroes, who came and went.

One Saturday when I was working at my funeral home, an old lady called me up and said she wanted to make her own funeral arrangements. I picked her up at her home and drove her to the funeral home, which isn’t standard procedure, but if a person has no means of transportation, it is something I will gladly do if I have the time and the staff.

For someone who said she was ninety-one, she was a little fire cracker. She was boisterous and energetic, and she seemed like the type that would definitely live to be one hundred.

She told me something quite different, however. She said that she would be dying soon. Then again, she also said all her relatives hated her and wished she was dead. I listened sympathetically, thinking I was most likely overhearing the ramblings of a paranoid old lady.

She paid for her funeral. When I drove her home afterward, I met her son, and he was as nice as could be. Nobody hated that lady, from what I could tell.

She called me up a few days later with a question about her funeral arrangements. I did the best I could to guide her in the right direction to get her problem solved.

And then I said, "Is there anything else I can help you with?"

Her response was so bizarre that I’ll never forget it.

She said, "There's nothing you can do for me now, but I'll be dead in a couple weeks and then you can embalm me."

I wrote her off as a crazy lady. But two weeks later she died.

Her son came in to sign all the papers for her funeral. He said he didn't have a clue what his mother should wear, so I got to go back to her house and pick out her outfit. I've never done that before. I always dress people in outfits their families have chosen, but I never got to pick one myself. Being ninety-one, that lady had a lot of vintage outfits and some really cool clothes, and it was nice being in charge of deciding what she should wear.

This was one of the few times when I felt like the person I was taking care of was a friend, and that I at least had a hint of what she was like when she was alive.

When that lady told me she was going to die, which she did more than once, I always brushed her off with remarks like, "You seem very healthy to me", or "Don't be silly - you're going to make it to one hundred!" It seems like accepting the possibility of death is rude. But I wonder if I should have talked about it with her rather than pushing it aside.

I imagine if you know you're going to die, it's hard to find someone who will talk to you about it. It’s strange that even I am uncomfortable acknowledging death.