Seven Names On The Fridge, And The Evening I Ticked Them All Off

A note from a reader who wrote her Christmas list the night the first red showed on the pohutukawa outside her kitchen window, and had every name ticked before the dishes were done.

I am 64, and every year in the middle of November I write the Christmas list on a little lined pad and stick it to the fridge with the red flower magnet Olive gave me. Then I look at it for three weeks, panic on the twentieth of December, and buy everybody a candle.

This year I wrote it on a Sunday night, the first night there was red showing on the pohutukawa outside the kitchen window. Seven names. And before Graeme had finished drying the dishes, every one of them had a tick beside it.

That was because of one small thing. A little heart on a cord called the Hattie, from The Mount Coastal Boutique, a small New Zealand boutique I buy my dresses from. I had bought one for myself in October and had not taken it off. So I sat at the bench with the laptop and ordered seven more, one for each name and a spare. Here is the list, name by name, and why it worked for every one of them.

The list, the magnet, and mine hanging off it while I worked out who was getting what. Graeme says it looks like a ransom note.

What it is

One small flat heart in a soft, worn silver colour, matte rather than shiny, with a tan double cord threaded through a slot in the middle. No clasp. Two little sliding knots, pulled apart to go over the hand and pushed together to sit on the wrist. It opens up to 22.8 centimetres, and there is one size.

The list

1. Anna, who wears black.My daughter is 38, lives in Auckland and owns, by my count, eleven black tops. Buying her clothes is a waste of a perfectly good afternoon. A bit of tan and soft silver on the wrist is about as much colour as she will let me get away with, and it sits happily against all eleven. Anna, on the phone, when I asked what she wanted: "Nothing, Mum. Honestly." Noted.
2. Bev next door, who feeds Bruce.Every time we go over to Rotorua, Bev feeds our terrier, waters the tomatoes and will not take a cent. She gardens all day and has never worn a watch, let alone a bracelet, because she says things catch. This one has nothing to catch. No clasp, no charm swinging about, and it weighs next to nothing. Bev, over the fence in October, looking at mine: "That is the first bracelet I have seen that I could garden in."
3. Pam, from book club.Pam is the one who turns up in the white V neck and makes the rest of us look like we got dressed in the dark. She wears colour, coral and teal and once a fuchsia I still think about. Tan goes with all of it. I have been stuck for Pam for nine Christmases. Not this one. Pam, at book club, when I said my list was done: "In November? Who are you?"
4. Ngaire, who has done my hair for 22 years.Ngaire spends her day with her arms up and her hands in other people's hair, and she cannot wear anything that dangles. The Hattie sits flat on the wrist and stays where you put it. Two little knots and it is snug, not swinging. Ngaire, at my last appointment: "If you are getting me anything, nothing with a clasp. My fingers are done by five o'clock."
5. Helen, Anna's mother in law.Every family has one name on the list that makes you sigh. Helen has everything, and what she does not have she does not want. There is no size to get wrong, nothing to exchange in January, and it costs what a present should, so it does not look as if I am trying too hard. With Helen, that matters. Graeme, reading over my shoulder: "Helen? Are you sure?" I am sure.
6. Miss Fraser, Olive's teacher.Olive is seven and finishing Year 3, and school breaks up in the middle of December. Anna works, so the teacher present is always my job. Every year I stand in a shop holding a mug that says something about the best teacher in the world, and put it back. Olive is making the card. The Hattie is going inside it. Olive, on the phone: "Nana, can it be a heart? Miss Fraser likes hearts." It can, love.
7. Me.I put myself on the list last, like every year, except this year I was already wearing mine. It has been on since October, in the garden, at New World, and at Hannah's engagement drinks, and most days I forget it is there. Graeme: "You are not allowed to buy yourself a Christmas present." Too late.

Seven on the bench the evening the courier came, tags still blank. Six names and a spare. I always need a spare.

About the price

The Hattie is $42.95 at the moment, down from $89.95. Take two and 15 percent comes off in the cart, three is 20 percent, four is 25, and five or more is 30 percent. My seven came to a little over $210, which is about thirty dollars a present. Last year I spent more than that on candles nobody burnt.

Side by side, honestly

Presents I used to give	The Hattie
A candle bought on the twentieth	Ordered in November, wrapped with time to spare
A scarf in a colour I guessed	Tan and soft silver, goes with black and with fuchsia
A ring in a size I hoped was right	One size, opens to 22.8 centimetres
A chain with a fiddly clasp	No clasp, two sliding knots
Something to swap in January	Nothing to swap

Christmas Day outside, the way I have it planned. Pav, new potatoes, Graeme's ham, and a little parcel at Helen's place.

The honest bit

It is small, and it is quiet. If someone on your list likes jewellery that catches the light from across a room, this is not that. The cord comes in tan only. And the heart is a worn silver colour, soft and matte rather than bright, which I prefer, but you might not.

Mine, on the arm of the cane chair, with the pohutukawa coming out behind. It has been on since October.

What I would tell you if we were friends

If it is for Christmas, order by Friday 4 December. It comes free by NZ Post, usually in seven to ten working days, and you have thirty days to change your mind. I emailed Susan at the boutique to ask whether I could have one sent straight to Anna's place for Miss Fraser, and she wrote back the same day.

Write your list tonight. Put yourself on it. You might be finished before the dishes are.

— Wendy