Miss Blue Eyes

I think about my niece Miss Blue Eyes at least once a week. It isn't that we talk, email or twitter. With high school, dance and a boyfriend, her plate is full. She would be as surprised to hear from me as I would be to hear from her, and that is OK. Last Christmas Miss Blue Eyes gave me a water bottle. It was a gift I'd asked for, in the vague sense of wanting something better than a plastic bottle and then listing it on my wish list for the name exchange drawing. Miss Blue Eyes drew my name and selected the bottle. It's a no-nonsense, industrial gray steel Starbucks bottle. I wasn't sure it was exactly what I wanted, but now I treasure it for the thinking it brings. The bottle goes to the pool and sits on the edge as I swim. It reminds me of its giver, Miss Blue Eyes. Then I'm on to thinking about the rest of the relatives as I swim through 25 back-and forth minutes. If the bottle wasn't a gift, I don't know what thoughts would occupy my mind. Maybe I'd tweak the Pythagorean Theorem or figure out who was first--the chicken or the egg. But chances are, I'd just get bored.