Transcript
A (0:00)
I don't mean to interrupt your meal, but I love Geico's fast and friendly claim service.
B (0:04)
Well, that's how Geico gets 97% customer satisfaction.
A (0:08)
Yeah, I'll let you get back to your food.
B (0:11)
So are you just gonna watch me eat?
A (0:12)
Get more than just savings. Get more with Geico before your city replaces its water pipes. Get informed Some materials, like PVC, come with hidden health risks. Learn more@informedwaterchoices.com.
C (0:35)
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 that 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 Earnest man by Naomi Shehab Nye. You can't order a poem like you order a taco. Walk up to the counter, say, I'll take two and expect it to be handed back to you on a shiny plate. Still, I like your spirit. Anyone who says, here's my address, write me a poem deserves something in reply, so I'll tell a secret Instead, poems hide in the bottoms of our shoes. They are sleeping. They are the shadows drifting across our ceilings. The moment before we wake up. What we have to do is live in a way that lets us find them. Once I knew a man who gave his wife two skunks for a valentine. He couldn't understand why she was crying. I thought they had such beautiful eyes. And he was serious. He was a serious man who lived in a serious way. Nothing was ugly just because the world said so. He really liked those skunks, so he reinvented them as valentines and they became beautiful, at least to him. And the poems that had been hiding in the eyes of skunks for centuries crawled out and curled up at his feet. Maybe if we reinvent whatever our lives give us, we find poems check your garage, the odd sock in your drawer, the person you almost like but not quite. And let me the Slowdown is a production of American Public Media in partnership with the Poetry Foundation. To get a poem delivered to you daily, go to slowdownshow.org and sign up for our newsletter. And find us on Instagram at at Slow down show and bluesky@downdownshow.org.
