Dear Santa,

I have been a very good girl this year, considering the provocation.

This year, after a rather serendipitous adventure in getting what I asked for, I’m tempted to just say, "Surprise me!"

You see, it all began several weeks ago when my mom and I were talking on the phone.

She mentioned that what she really wanted (not for Christmas, just "because") were some of the old-style iron-on embroidery transfers. With the demise of such venues as Woolworth’s, and the upped ante of elaborate needlework and crafts (remember when it was OK to just slap photos into a scrapbook using those little black corners? When that was "enough"?), items such as Aunt Martha’s embroidery transfers for flour-sack dishtowels and pillowcases have gone by the wayside. I think real flour sacks went there years ago.

And I said that I was looking for a bookcase for my sewing room. Now, I know I can find bookcases just about anywhere, from the DIY ones at Wally World with genuine pictures of wood on the panels, to solid cherry at Ethan Allen. For most rooms I’ve compromised. Websters: "to compromise," from the Swedish word "IKEA," meaning DIY real wood bookcases.

My problem this time was a wall with a window to the left of the bookcase space and a sloping ceiling to the right. It couldn’t be too tall. It couldn’t be too wide. It had to be just right. In the Fairy Tale world that is my life, I needed the "baby bear" bookcase.

The next morning I was out for my walk. It’s 4:30 a.m. No matter what time of year it is, it’s dark out then. About a mile from my house I saw what looked to be a pile of rubbish in front of a home. Five gallon paint pails. Old carpet and padding. A rusted two-drawer file cabinet. A bookcase.

I immediately applied the emergency brakes to my Reeboks and went over to check it out. Even in that dim light I could see that it was in pretty good shape. And, miracle of miracles, it appeared to be the baby bear size. Not too tall. Not too wide.

I have never in my life been a runner. I can walk all day. I’ve walked three marathons (OK, it was 30+ years ago, but it still counts). But I sprinted home, got my keys and my vehicle, drove over there, and wrangled the piece into the back hatch.

Moving bookcases is not a one person job. Moving bookcases from a vehicle in a driveway to a house, up the stairs, around the newel post and over the banister, and down the hall is especially not a one person job. It can, however, be done by one person with sufficient motivation. I was motivated.

Whew.

Then, armed with some cleaning rags and a bottle of spray cleaner, I sprayed and wiped until it was presentable. Yippee!

Then I went to the basement to retrieve my sewing books; the ones that had been temporarily stored on metal shelving for the past 25 years. When I grabbed the fourth stack of books, something fell out from between them. Embroidery transfers. What are the odds? I set them aside for my mom.

For the better part of that day I lugged books, cleaned the old shelves, and rearranged items that had been crammed on them amongst the books: crock pots, ice buckets, boxes of candles, hams (ironing, not smoked).

By the time I was done I had one empty shelving unit to dispose of. I hauled it upstairs and out to the front sidewalk and marked it "free." It lasted three minutes.

Back downstairs I saw something that had fallen behind the old rack. An olive drab metal banker’s box. I hadn’t seen it in years — nearly 30 years, judging by the circa 1975 contents. Inside were photos of my girlfriend’s wedding, a Christmas card from my college roommate, and a stack of ... embroidery transfers.

If I’d known the day before that we were going to get exactly what we asked for, I certainly would have reconsidered my request! Especially as this all happened before the election.

Anyway, this means I can already check off "bookcase" on my wish list. Here’s what’s left:

Tvbegone. Available at http://www.tvbegone.com/. This handy device allows any TV to be turned off. Anywhere. This means that, when I’m eating at one of my favorite late night haunts, one push of the button will zap all five overhead jumbotron televisions. It won’t cure my fear that one of them will fall on my head while I’m eating. And it won’t alleviate the refurbishing of the dining room that now includes six different styles of light fixtures in one space (chandeliers, sconces, ceiling lights, pendants — all different; the place looks like a lighting showroom threw up on the ceiling). But the televisions will be off.

Paths of Desire, by Dominique Browning. No, it’s not a trashy romance novel. It’s a gardening book. Ms. Browning is the editor of House & Garden. She understands the importance of having fabulous plantings and the occasional gnome. Her previous book, Around the House & Garden, was billed as "a memoir of heartbreak, healing & home improvement," details her divorce and the search for the perfect sofa.

The Craft Master Art Projector. What a great tool! Billed as a toy for kids to make shadow pictures (can’t they do that with a flashlight?), this item appeals on so many levels. It has a the schlock gift appeal of the Popeil Pocket Fisherman or the Ronco Bottle & Jar Cutter. It has the kiddie nostalgia appeal of the Give-A-Show Projector. And it has the current value of allowing me to enlarge and paint The Birth of Venus on my garage door. Won’t that get the neighbors going.

This last item under the tree doesn’t need to be from you, Santa. Anyone who reads this is welcome to participate. I’ve been writing this column every month now for six years and it still doesn’t have a logo. Appropriate art work, submitted for consideration, would be much appreciated! Prizes may be involved!

And, for my stocking, if there’s room, The Sweet Potato Queens Field Guide to Men. What Peterson’s did for birdwatchers, Jill Conner Browne does for women everywhere.

Thanks, Santa, and don’t work too hard!

Sincerely,

Karen, a very good girl