It has sat in my desk drawer for about six years, and every so often I like to take it out and reminisce. I am not given to hoarding calendars. Once the year is done I recycle them to save the clutter, occasionally sparing a picture or two that I think particularly striking. The zebra calendar is an exception, not because I am especially partial to zebra, but because of the memory it holds.
I remember the day my father brought it home for me. I was about fourteen or fifteen and home from school. I forget what was wrong, and don't think I was especially ill; I just had a cold and was feeling a little sorry for myself. The calendar was a gift to cheer me up; something he had picked up on his way home from work. I was touched by the act, and the thought. I still get a little ache in my heart whenever I think about it, because it is a reminder of just how much my father loves me. There are things, not necessarily objects, that remind me just how much my mother loves me too, and it's the same with Spud, and all the people in my life. I am a very blessed woman to be so loved.