Rethinking the Care Package
For the last 36 hours, I’ve been recovering from food poisoning (not suffered at my own hand, mind you, but a restaurant that will now receive my eternal scorn!). Not so interested, as you might understand, in chatting about spring soups. But I am mustering the energy for something else: Care Packages.
When I was in college, my sister sent me the best care packages filled with makeup and bath products. My mom would send her incredible chocolate chip pecan cookies, and on the receipt of either, I found myself overjoyed in the dark, subterranean mail room of my school. I sent my little brother my attempt at the best chocolate chip cookies. To a college junior who had probably had too much to drink the night before, they were perfection.
I had always thought of care packages as being relegated to the college years, until my friend Jenny once sent me a pair of magnificent gold sandals in the mail. The care package can really be giving whatever the recipient needs — like three kinds of chocolate to a hormonal friend or a bunch of yellow daisies to another who’s been down in the dumps. I enacted the “local care package” when a friend was working so hard and so tirelessly that he rarely stopped for lunch. He was getting noticeably thinner. So I put together a bag of groceries that could be kept on his desk and grabbed by the handful. Chock full of preservatives? Some of the snacks were (peanut butter Ritz cracker sandwiches are a favorite of his), but I also included cashews, wasabi peas, and dried mango slices.
There is a certain level of self-satisfaction when you give someone just what you know they need but which they aren’t, for whatever reason, providing for themselves. That’s when you, the ever perceptive friend, get to swoop in and save the day with bubble bath, cupcakes, and all the words of encouragement needed.
What are some “care packages” you’ve given, even if it wasn’t via the mail or was as small as a Hershey’s kiss?