142 – The Best Holiday Gift of All

Happy holidays.

You're listening to gift biz unwrapped episode 142 Attention gifters bakers,

crafters, and makers pursuing your dream can be fun.

Whether you have an established business or looking to start one.

Now you are in the right place.

This is give to biz unwrapped,

helping you turn your skill into a flourishing business.

Join us for an episode,

packed full of invaluable guidance,

resources, and the support you need to grow.

Your gift biz here is your host gift biz gal Sue

Mon height.

On this Christmas day,

I'd like to present a light-hearted entertaining episode of the gift

biz unwrapped podcast.

It's a holiday tale that crosses generations and religions.

Sit back and enjoy this short story by O Henry entitled

the gift of the magi.

$1 and 87 cents.

That was all.

And 60 cents of it was in pennies.

Pennies saved one and two at a time by bulldozing the

grocer and the vegetable man and the butcher until ones cheeks

burned with the silent imputation of parsimony that such close dealing

implied three times,

Della counted it $1 and 87 cents and the next day

would be Christmas.

There was clearly nothing to do,

but flopped down on the shabby little couch and Howell.

So Della did it,

which instigates the moral reflection that life is made up of

sobs, sniffles and smiles with sniffles predominating.

While the mistress of the home is gradually subsiding from the

first stage to the second,

take a look at the home,

a furnished flat at $8 per week.

It did not exactly beggar description,

but it certainly had that word on the outlook for the

mendicancy squad in the vestibule below was a letter box into

which no letter would go and an electric button from which

no mortal finger could coax a ring.

Also appertaining there onto was a card bearing the name Mr.

James Dillingham young,

the Dillingham had been flung to the breeze during a former

period of prosperity when its processor was being paid $30 a

week. Now,

when the income was shrunk to $20,

the letters of Dillingham looked blurred as though they were seriously

thinking of contracting to a modest and unassuming D.

But whenever Mr.

James Dillingham young came home and reached his flat above,

he was called Jim and greatly hugged by Mrs.

James Dillingham,

young already introduced to you as Della,

which is all very good.

Della finished her cry and attended to her cheeks with the

powder rag.

She stood by the window,

looked out Dolly and a gray cat walking on a gray

fence in a gray back yard.

Art tomorrow would be Christmas day and she had only a

dollar and 87 cents with which to buy Jim a present.

She had been saving every penny she could for months with

this result,

$20 a week,

doesn't go very far.

Expenses had been greater than she had calculated.

They always are only a dollar and 87 cents to buy

a present for gym,

her gym,

many, a happy hour.

She had spent planning for something nice for him,

something fine and rare and Sterling something just a little bit

near to being worthy of the honor of being owned by

Jim. There was a pure glass between the windows of the

room. Perhaps you have seen a pure glass in an $8

flat, a very thin and very agile person may by observing

his reflection in a rapid sequence of longitudinal strips obtain a

fairly accurate conception of his Luxe.

Dalla being slender had mastered the art,

suddenly she world from the window and stood before the glass.

Her eyes were shining brilliantly,

but her face had lost its color.

Within 20 seconds rapidly.

She pulled down her hair and let it fall to its

full length.

Now, there were two possessions of the James Dillingham Youngs in

which they took a mighty pride.

One was Jim's gold watch that had been his fathers and

his grandfather.

The other was Dallas hair had the queen of Sheba lived

in the flat,

across the air shaft.

Della would have let her hair hang out the window someday

to dry dust,

to deprecate her majesties,

Juul and gifts had King Salomon been the janitor with all

his treasures piled up in the basement.

Jim would have pulled out his watch every time he passed

by just to see him pluck at his beard from envy.

So now Dell,

Della's beautiful here fell about her rippling and shining like a

cascade of Brown waters.

It reached below her knee and made itself almost a garment

for her.

And then she did it up again,

nervously and quickly.

Once she faltered for a minute and stood still while a

tear or two splashed on the worn red carpet on went,

her old Brown jacket on winter old Brown hat with a

whirl of skirts and the brilliant sparkle still in her eyes.

She fluttered out the door and down the stairs to the

street where she stopped the sign.

Read Madame hair goods of all kinds.

One flight up Della ran and collected herself.

Teen Madame,

large to white Chile hardly looked the.

Will you buy my hair?

Asked Della.

Hi, bye hair said,

Madame, take your head off.

And let's have a sight at the looks of it down

rippled. The Brown cascade $20 said Madame,

lifting the mass with a practice hand.

Give it to me quick set,

Della. Oh,

and the next two hours tripped by on Rosie wings.

Forget the hashed metaphor.

She was ransacking the stores for Jim's present.

She found it at last.

It surely had been made for Jim and no one else.

There was no other like it in any of them stores.

And she had turned all of them inside out.

It was platinum fob chain simple and chased and design properly

proclaiming its value by substance alone and not by meretricious ornamentation

as all good things should do.

It was even worthy of the watch.

As soon as she saw it,

she knew that it must be gyms.

It was like him quietness and value.

The description applied to both $21.

They took from her for it and she hurried home with

the 87 cents.

With that chain on his watch,

Jim might be properly anxious about the time in any company

grand as the watch was,

he sometimes looked at it on the sly on account of

the old leather strap that he used in place of a

chain. When Della reached home,

her intoxication gave way a little to prudence and reason.

She got out her curling irons and lighted the gas and

went to work.

Repairing the ravages made by generosity,

added to love,

which is always a tremendous task.

Dear friends,

a mammoth task within 40 minutes,

her head was covered with tiny loose line curls that made

her look wonderfully like a truant school.

Boy, she looked at a reflection in the mirror long,

carefully, and critically.

Ooh. If Jim doesn't kill me,

she said to herself for,

he takes a second.

Look at me.

He'll say,

I look like a Coney Island,

chorus girl,

but what could I do?

Oh, what could I do with a dollar and 87 cents

at seven o'clock the coffee was made and the frying pan

was on the back of the stove,

hot and ready to cook the chops.

Jim was never late.

Della doubled the fog chain in her hand and sat on

the corner of the table,

near the door that he always entered.

Then she heard his step on the stair away,

down on the first flight.

And she turned white for just a moment.

She had,

I had a habit of sane,

silent little prayers about the symbolist day things.

And now she whispered,

please, God,

make him think I am still pretty.

The door opened.

And Jim stepped in and closed it.

He looked thin and very serious poor fellow.

He was only 22 and to be burdened with a family,

he needed a new overcoat and he was without gloves.

Jim stopped inside the door as immovable,

as a setter at the scent of quail,

his eyes were fixed upon Della and there was an expression

in them that she could not.

I read and it terrified her was not anger nor surprise,

nor disapproval,

nor horror,

nor any of the sentiments that she had been prepared for.

He simply stared at her fixedly with that peculiar expression on

his face,

Della wriggled off the table and went for him.

Jim Darlene,

she cried.

Don't look at me that way.

I had my hair cut off and sold it because I

couldn't have lived through Christmas without giving you a present.

It'll grow out again.

You won't mind will you?

I just had to do it.

My hair grows awfully fast.

Say Merry Christmas,

Jim. And let's be happy.

You don't know what a beautiful,

nice gift I got for you.

You cut off your hair.

Asked Jim laboriously as if he had not arrived at the

patent fact yet.

Even after the hardest mental labor,

cut it off and sold.

It said,

Della, don't you like me?

Just as well.

Anyhow, I me,

without my hair,

ain't die.

Jim looked around the room.

Curiously, you say your hair is gone.

He said,

with an air of almost idiocy,

you needn't look for it said,

Della, it's sold.

I tell you sold and gone to it's Christmas Eve.

Boy, be good to me for it went for you.

Maybe the hairs on my head are numbered.

She went on with a sudden serious sweetness,

but nobody could ever count my love for you.

Shall I put on the chops?

Jim, out of his trance,

Jim seemed quickly to wake.

He enfolded his Della for 10 seconds.

Let us regard with discrete scrutiny,

some inconsequential object in the other direction,

$8 a week or a million dollars a year.

What is the difference?

A mathematician or a wit would give you wrong answer.

The magi brought valuable gifts,

but that was not among them.

This dark assertion will be illuminated later on Jim drew a

package out of his overcoat pocket and threw it upon the

table. Don't make any mistake Del.

He said about me.

I don't think there's anything in the way of a haircut

or a shave or a shampoo that could make me like

my girl any less.

But if you'll unwrap that package,

you may see why you had me going a little while

at first white fingers and nimble tore at the string and

paper and then an ecstatic scream of joy.

And then all last,

a quick feminine change to hysterical tears and wails necessitating the

immediate employment of all the comforting powers of the Lord of

the flat for their lay,

the Combs,

the set of Combs side-by-side that Della had worshipped for long

in a Broadway window,

beautiful Combs,

pure tortoise shell with Juul rims,

just the shade to wear in the beautiful vanished hair.

They were expensive Combs.

She knew,

and her heart had simply craved and yearned over them without

the least hope of possession.

And now they were hers,

but the tresses that should have adorned,

the coveted ornaments were gone,

but she hugged them to her bosom and at length,

she was able to look up with demise and a smile

and say,

my hair grows so fast,

Jim, and then Della leaped up like a little singed cat

and cried.

Oh, Oh,

Jim had not yet seen his beautiful present.

She held it out to him.

Eagerly upon her open Palm.

The DOL precious metal seemed to flash with a reflection of

her bright and ardent spirit.

Isn't it a dandy,

Jim? I hunted all over town to find it.

You'll have to look at the time a hundred times a

day. Now give me your watch.

I want to see how it looks on it.

Instead of obeying Jim tumbled down on the couch and put

his hands under the back of his head and smiled Dell,

he said,

let's put our Christmas presents away and keep them awhile.

They're too nice to use just at present.

I sold the watch to get the money,

to buy your Combs.

And now suppose you put the chops,

The magi,

as you know,

we're wise men wonderfully wise,

men who brought gifts to the babe in the manger.

They invented the art of giving Christmas presents being wise.

Their gifts were no doubt.

Wise ones possibly bearing the privilege of exchange in case of

duplication. And here I have Lanely related to you,

the uneventful Chronicle of two foolish children in a flat who

most unwisely sacrificed for each other,

the greatest treasures of their house,

but in the last word to the wise of these days,

let it be said that of all who give gifts.

These two were the wisest of all who give and receive

gifts such as they are wisest everywhere.

They are wisest.

They are the magi.

I chose this story today for a couple of reasons.

It transcends the materialism that is mostly equated to gifting.

These days in a world of bigger is better and more

expensive equals higher status.

It's important to reground ourselves in what the spirit of giving

is meant to be.

It should have less to do with the actual gift and

more to do with the intentions and the message behind the

gesture. Of course,

the idea is not lost on me,

that you,

as a listener to this show are most likely a gifter

Baker, crafter or maker.

Your heart goes into the creations of your products.

And the goal is for people to purchase them.

Meaning material,

things as gifts,

gifts for themselves or others.

One could call that materialistic or one could consider the deeper

reason for the gift to celebrate a life event,

to share the sentiment of friendship or love to extend an

apology or to offer support.

There are a myriad of reasons for a gift when you've

deepened a relationship and brought happiness,

excitement, and celebration into someone's life.

That is a true gift.

I hope you enjoyed this variation of the show today and

that you are experiencing warm and enriching moments with family and

friends this holiday season next week on new year's day,

I'll be expanding upon this concept of a deeper level of

gifting and what it can mean for advancing your business.

This coming year.

I wish you warmth and happiness and all the wonderful things

that the holiday can bring.

And I look forward to us being together again next week,

the very first day of the new year,

This episode is all wrapped up,

but your gift biz journey continues.

It's your time to experience the pride and satisfaction of turning

your passion into a profitable business.

Join the gift biz builder program and access valuable lessons or

worksheets and a live Q and a sessions.

Addressing your specific challenges.

You also have the opportunity to connect with a community of

gift biz builders,

just like you head over to gift biz,

unwrapped.com/gift biz builder,

and get started today.