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By Jeff Logullo My wife's a peach--honest to God. Just the sweetest, nicest, caring, loving wife you could ask for. Sara really shines at Christmastime. Somehow she always manages to surprise me with the most wonderful stuff. But this year... well, this year tops 'em all. You see, I've been thinking about buying a canoe. And the Logullo men have a proud tradition of taking their time when contemplating a major purchase. In this case, I've been pondering the canoe purchase for something like eight years. Right before my first sabbatical from Apple, I was thinking seriously of buying a canoe and doing a float down the Mississippi. I even got so far as picking out the brand, the model, and calling a dealer in New Jersey. I talked to a guy at Jersey Paddler's for probably an hour, as he helped me decide on the perfect canoe. When we were nearing the end of the conversation, I told him I was ready to order, and even offered to give him my credit card number. For some reason, he told me to wait. He was going to be placing an order soon and would call me back to finish things up. But he never called me back. That was in 1993. Since that time, I've gazed skyward in several sporting goods stores, thinking about the Canoe That Might Have Been. No more sabbaticals in my future, but I enjoy floating the fine rivers of Missouri. I've also become quite fond of canoe fishing, having been introduced to the fun by my friend Gib Van Cleve. A few times this past year I've stopped in a local outdoor goods store, hoping to find the canoe I want on some sort of super-sale. So, with that as a backdrop, let me now set the scene for Christmas 2001. Right before Thanksgiving, Sara and I found ourselves talking about digital cameras. One evening she asked about digital pictures, and before you know it we both realized how much use we'd get from a good one. It'll probably pay for itself in film development savings, we told ourselves. So we "bought each other" the digital camera as an early Christmas present, with the agreement that we wouldn't be buying each other anything else in the "expensive surprise" category. (This, of course, is another one of those purchases I would still be pondering today if it weren't for Sara.) A few days before Christmas, I took a drive with my brother Jon to meet Karen, our sister, in Springfield, MO. We had a nice afternoon together, doing some Christmas shopping and enjoying a nice lunch together. At one point during the day, Karen and Jon looked at me and said, "We know what you're getting for Christmas!" Well, that was puzzling... and I forgot about it. Forward to Christmas Day. Here's the scene: I'm sitting on the couch, knee-deep in wrapping paper, boxes and bows. The TV is playing one of the kids' DVDs. Sara is starting to sweep up papers and move piles of gifts from one place to another. I'm deep in thought, trying to read the instruction manual for some new electronic gadget. I remember hearing Sara say to Leigh, "Help me open some of these shades", and soon I was being blinded by the sun shining through the windows. I didn't give it much thought, but squinted and kept reading. A few minutes later, I sort-of realized that Sara had the digital camera out, and was taking pictures of something. She said, "I can't get this thing to work," and so I glanced up and told her to make sure the camera was focused on whatever she was pointing at. A few snaps later, Sara said, "Oh, I can't make this thing work." I jumped up from the couch and asked her to see the camera. I looked at the preview on the camera's display, and announced with some confidence that the camera was not focusing correctly because of a reflection from the window. "See?" I said. "You can see the reflection of the lamp, right here in the middle of the picture." I looked up at Sara, hoping that my observation would be perceived as helpful somehow. Strange, but she had a funny smile on her face. "Look at that picture again!" And so I did. ![[Image]](../fotos/surprise.jpg)
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![[Image]](../fotos/goocanoe.jpg) If you can smile with an 88 pound canoe on your shoulders, you must be happy. |