Connie is one of those friends who comes along once in a lifetime.   We roomed together in college. She sat with me through several hours of "hees and whos" Lamaze breathing when my oldest daughter was born. Even when she moved away, working in the Twin Towers in New York City and later moving to Utah, she was only just a phone call away.

As my children got a little older, they began asking just how "Aunt Connie" was related to us. Was she my sister, or their Dad's? I would tell them that she wasn't really their aunt. She was just a very special friend that I loved as dearly as a sister.

No matter what was going on in her own life, Connie never forgot my children's birthdays. Even Valentines, Easter and Christmas were included. Like clockwork, a package would arrive in the mail, postmarked from wherever Connie was living at the time. Our address would be written in her lovely calligraphy style. The package was always decorated with stamps, stickers or drawings. Even the letters she wrote were so beautiful that they stood out in a stack of envelopes.

When Connie sent something through the mail, she sent it out in style.  Just the sight of one of these packages would send my children into a frenzy of delight! They knew that inside would be smaller, wrapped gifts with their names written in fanciful lettering. Where Connie found all these marvelous little trinkets we never found out. Each was unique and a treasure unto itself.

Once during a phone call, I lamented that the latest kid's meal toys were unavailable in our small town. A few weeks later, a box arrived filled with an entire set of action figures from the latest Disney movie. I marveled at how many kid's meals she had purchased, and probably consumed, to collect those toys.

To keep each gift intact, Connie would pack the boxes with those little pieces of Styrofoam commonly called peanuts. A less common name is knurdles. Sometimes white, sometimes pastel-colored, often in different shapes, these little bits of cushion kept each present safe from damage.  Most of the time we recycled the peanut knurdles and sent little gifts back in return. The children had such fun picking out and wrapping small things and wondering what her expression would be when Aunt Connie opened the box. Sometimes we would add Christmas bows or Easter grass to the Styrofoam just for variation.

One spring day, such a box was delivered to us. My children were ecstatic with expectation as they danced around the large container sitting on the living room floor. Two of the older girls knelt down and tugged at the tape holding the lid shut. Little fingers were struggling to loosen the edges.

"Wait just a moment, I'll get my scissors," I told them. I was excited, too, to see what my friend had sent all the way from Salt Lake City. It only took a few seconds to run upstairs and pick up the scissors. When I walked back into the living room, I couldn't believe what I saw.  It looked like an explosion in a knurdle factory. The entire room was covered with tiny white pieces of plastic foam. Peanuts were on the couch, my husband's recliner, the coffee table and television set. Two pieces floated in the fishbowl.

In the middle of the fallout sat my four children, giggling in delight and scooping through the remaining white stuff for any presents left in the bottom of the box. When they realized I was back in the room, they suddenly went quiet with the realization of what they had done. Surely they were in big trouble now. Their eyes were round with surprise. They each clutched their prize close to themselves.

"Okay, guys! Everyone drop the presents and start cleaning! Nobody opens a thing until you pick every one of those knurdles up!"

They looked at each other in surprise, then one whispered to another, "She said knurdles." The littlest one giggled behind his hand.  Well, I have to admit, it was a funny name to call the peanuts. It was also hard not to smile as I imagined the delight and joyful abandon my children felt when they were able to open the box without Mom's help.

After all, isn't that what being a child is all about? How many adults would have be able to outwardly show such joy, and have so much fun?  We were able to clean up the room and make it presentable in no time, then spent the next hour sharing our new treasures with each other. We talked about how special Aunt Connie was to our family. Plans were made to write notes to her and to start filling a box up with things in return.

Over the next few weeks, several more knurdles were found, hidden behind a sofa pillow or under a chair, even in my crochet basket. Each one made me smile.

by Pamela Jenkins
ramblinrabbit @ juno.com