I looked at the flat package on the top shelf of my closet. I puzzled over it. It was difficult to see it clearly. It was early November, 2000 and I had just finished having my studio apartment painted and I felt I had to throw out whatever had accumulated in my closets for the past three years. So I had to examine this strange package that I did not recall ever seeing before. 

I am 5 feet tall and it is easy to miss anything past eye level, but this day I was scrutinizing every nook and cranny of my 500 foot space.  I pulled out my step stool and carefully climbed up, stretched, and pulled down the perfectly flat package that was wrapped in plain brown paper. 

There was nothing written on it to identify its point of origin, so I unwrapped it. Lo and behold, a lovely painting of flowers and butterflies in soft pastels emerged from its cocoon. It was either 2 feet long and 8 inches wide or 2 feet wide and 8 inches tall. I tried looking at it vertically and it was lovely, but when I looked at it horizontally, it looked better. I had not bought it and did not remember anybody having given it to me. I perused it more closely. I turned it up, down, sideways, and suddenly realized that the butterflies and flowers spelled out AMANDA, my granddaughter’s name. I wondered if she had made it, but realized that this was very professional looking. Then I thought I remembered something about a Christmas present and Amanda.

 My children and grandchildren would be coming for Christmas, and not wanting to insult Amanda, I decided to put it up on the newly painted wall over my bed. I pulled out my double-sided adhesive and put a one-inch piece on each corner of the painting. I then placed the painting on the wall. I stepped back and realized it was a little high on the right. I tried to move it but no luck. It was stuck tight. I pulled a piece of the backing off when I moved it. I called over a taller neighbor for help who asked me why I was putting a painting that said AMANDA over my bed. I explained and my friend proceeded to place it properly. I stood back and was pleased with the result.

During the night I felt something hit my forehead.  AMANDA was across my face. I got up, and at 3 o’clock in the morning, I put a small nail through the blue paper frame bordering AMANDA and tap, tap, tapped it with my light hammer into the wall. 

  "I guess I should have done that in the first place.”

 Thanksgiving weekend my grandkids came for a sleepover in the city. When Amanda walked in she said, “Yiayia, why do you have a painting that says AMANDA over your bed?”

“I think it looks great. You gave it to me last Christmas.”

“I did? I don’t think so.”

“Yeah, you did. At first I thought you painted it.”

“Yiayia, I wish I could draw like that. You sure I gave it to you?”

“ How else would I get it, honey?”

“Okay, Yiayia. Whatever.”

Sunday morning, my daughter and my son-in-law came for the kids. I brought the children down to the car. My daughter whispered to me, “I’ll pick up Amanda’s Christmas present when I come next week. “

“Lisa, what present?”

“Mom, the one in the top shelf of your closet. That pretty painting for Amanda’s room that Lenny and I got a few months ago when we stayed over at your place. I told you I was putting it in the closet and you said okay.”

“Oh, Mi'god! I put it on my wall after the apartment was painted.”

“You what? How could you? Why would you put a painting that says AMANDA over your bed?”

“I found it in the closet when they painted and thought Amanda gave it to me last Christmas.”

 Suddenly Lisa and I both started laughing. Amanda and my son-in- law, Lenny, asked what was going on. As I explained, Amanda started laughing, but my son-in-law paled and gasped, “I ran all over in the rain to find this as a surprise for Amanda and you put it on your wall over your bed? Why would you do that? It says AMANDA. The surprise is ruined, but you still gotta take it down and we’ll pick it up.”

I said, “I am so sorry. I feel like an idiot,” but I thought to myself, "Thank goodness I didn’t throw it out in my cleaning frenzy. I hope that the backing isn’t badly mauled.”

I crossed my fingers as I entered my apartment. I hurried over to the wall and unstuck AMANDA from above the bed. Fortunately the backing wasn’t too bad, but the wall wasn’t so lucky. I pulled the tape off and in the morning called the handyman who used lighter fluid to remove the glue and touch-up paint to restore the wall.

In early December my son's boys, Brendan and Cory and my daughter’s children,  Amanda , Nick and Michael, were all at my house. The older kids went out with their mothers Christmas shopping and two year old Michael stayed with me.  When they came back  my daughter said, “ Mom, can I have that AMANDA painting.”

I gave it to her, but a few minutes later she said, “What happened to it?”

I gasped as I looked at the painting with the maroon boarder. “Oh, Mi'god I don’t know. It was fine a couple of days ago.” 

As everybody burst into gales of laughter, I looked again at the painting with the maroon border: ZAPHRA.

Moments like these scare me, especially after my son and his wife teased me with  “I don’t know mom. We might have to ship you off.”  I laughingly call such lapses “senior moments’ but actually I become very apprehensive about the possibility of Alzheimer’s.  This time I consoled myself. After all, I did remember the two principals, Amanda and Christmas. But Amanda was the intended recipient and it was Christmas present and not Christmas past, but I did get a beautiful pre-Christmas present for over my bed.

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