“Holy smokes, look at this place!”

My eyes were goggling as I took that first step into my buddy Jack’s basement. Well, it used to be a basement anyway. Now it seemed to be a replica of a quaint Irish pub.

“So this is where you’ve been!” my wife said with a smile. We hadn’t heard from Jack in almost five months and had just started to get sort of worried. “You’ve been renovating the palce.”
Jack nodded. “Remember that trip I took to Dublin last year? My cousins took me to this great watering hole that’d been around so long it didn’t even have a name anymore.

“And it turns out…” he said with a smile, laying a hand on the old wooden bartop. “The owner was replacing some parts of the place. I couldn’t let this old counter go, so I had it shipped home.”

“That must have been expensive,” I murmured touching the varnished wood. It was deep drown and oddly warm to the touch. “Is this oak?”

Jack nodded again. “It was a little pricy, sure, but once I got the idea for the basement I couldn’t resist.”

It was impressive; in addition to the countertop, Jack had installed faux wood paneling along the walls and floor. A great big deer head was mounted over the back of the bar (the liquor collection itself was worth mentioning) and Notre Dame pennants could be found hanging every few feet.

It was the little things that elevated the experience, too. “Hey,” said my wife. “Did you get personalized cocktail napkins?” She was holding up a little white napkin with a name on it. Jack nodded happily.

“O’Hanlon’s,” I read. That was not Jack’s last name.  “I thought you said the older place didn’t have a name?”

“It didn’t,” Jack said. “But take a look at this.”

We looked where he was pointing. Etched deep into the underside of the bartop were a number of names that seemed to stretch its entire length. All of them with the surname O’Hanlon.

“Seamus O’Hanlon,” my wife read. “1687. Michael O’Hanlon, 1707. Feargus O’Hanlon, 1745.”

“Patrick O’Hanlon, 1800,” I read, closer to the edge. “Macarthur O’Hanlon, 1825. There’s names all the way from the 1600’s to …1936?”

Jack nodded, a little sadder. “Story goes the O’Hanlons were an old Dublin family, around for centuries. No one know what happened to them, but judging by the date, it looks like they may have lost their last son…David, it looks like, during World War 2. That or they decided to move away from the area.”

“Either way, it’s a bit sad,” my wife said.

“Yeah,” I agreed. “But you’re honoring their memory with this place.”

Jack smiled. “I guess I am.” He stepped behind the bar and poured us each a glass. “To the O’Hanlons, no matter where they may be!”

We all toasted the memory of a family long past, the personalized napkins bearing witness.

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Okay, so this next slice of life you can thank my wife for, because it’s mostly her idea.

What can I say, I don’t get invited to a lot of baby showers.

She’s been to quite a few in the last few years…seems like most everyone we know has been getting pregnant. So that means a lot of baby showers. And a lot of baby showers means a lot of baby shower gifts. And a lot of presents means a lot of aggravation.

My wife gets frustrated by gift-buying- not because she doesn’t like having to buy gifts, but because she doesn’t want to give a boring one. It seems at showers, everyone mostly gives clothes, which the kid will likely grow out of within months. The same thing can be said for toys, diapers, and most baby-related paraphernalia. My wife likes to give gifts that have some longevity, things that can used over time and maintain a special place in the life of the child and the rest of the family.

So this year for her cousin’s most recent shower (number four, yikes!) she tried something a little different. She wanted to give a gift that was not only useful, but heartwarming and symbolized hope and excitement for the future.

My wife ordered up a number of different types of personalized stationery; some for kids, some for adults, all of them in the kid’s name, suggesting different paths he or she might take in life. All of them had a special designation as well; Personalized notepads reading “From Mikey’s First Grade Desk” and “Mike’ s First High School Memo Pad” and “From the Desk of Michael, Attorney At Law”.

The personalized corporate stationery was a nice touch, but between you and me, I really hope that kid gets named Michael.

My personal favorite is the set of personalized thank-you cards, with a message from the kid thanking everyone for coming to his/her own shower.  Everyone agreed it was a unique gift, which is exactly what she set out to do.

All of these, her cousin put into a scrap book, right alongside the birth announcement they’d sent out earlier in the year, and baby napkins they’d used at the shower. Right on the cover she marked it with a date and the “possible” names of the impending kid (luckily “Michael” was among them), and made sure to set it aside.

One day we hope to have our own kids, and I have to say, I don’t think anyone can top that.

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So Memorial Day! A time for family, friends, and feasting. As such, what’s a better way to bring all three together than with a party? And what’s the best type of party for the transition of Spring to Summer?

Backyard barbecues are the best, of course – inexpensive, comfortable, and most of all fun. Gather all your most important people, throw some meat on the grill (or vegetables, if you like), and enjoy at least one day out of the year to relax, rest, reconnect. Live the idiosyncratic life of grilled meats, yard games, and renewed comradeship with your pals.

Don’t forget to add that personal touch, which as some of you may have guessed is my personal motto. It’s what makes a gathering an occasion, and makes it all the more memorable.

Send out personalized invitations, inviting your nearest and dearest to your backyard bash. Keep the ball rolling with personalized party napkins, commemorating the date of of your Madcap Memorial Day Meatstravaganza (does not quite work if you are vegetarian).

Looking to keep the event mellow with some choice beverages? Set up your own little “bar” area with a buddy on bartender duty, and class things up with a makeshift bartop (picnic table with stools) and personalized beverage napkins with the name of your fabricated pub on them (just do us all a favor and don’t use the name [Your Name Here]‘s Watering Hole and set your drinks in a ice-filled kiddie pool/ It’s been done). Make sure to keep those adult beverages out of the hands of impressionable under-agers, of course. For that fact, keep them out of the hands of impressionable legal -agers as well. We all have that friend.

Play some games, tell old stories, laugh like you haven’t laughed in a long time. It’s a holiday, after all, and holidays are time for remembering why these people are so important to you.

When the party’s over, make sure you keep the goodwill going with personalized thank you cards, taking a moment to express your heartfelt gratitude to your closest friends, beyond a simple “thanks for coming”. Things like “Jimmy, thanks for bringing the hot dogs.” or “Mike, I really appreciated you driving Ed home.” Or even, “Steve, thanks for being so quick to call the fire department. With any luck, the grass around the grill will grow back by next year.”

Keep that personal touch; it’s what can make Memorial Day a Memorable Day.

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So, it’s almost Mother’s Day, or as I call it “Making Up for Not Calling as Often as I Should” Day.

Perhaps I exaggerate, as my mother’s never purposefully tried to make me feel like negligent offspring, but for at least one day out of the year I do my best to honor She Who Did Certainly Give Birth To Me.

So naturally, a gift’s in order. But what? After thirty years of life (well, thirty-three, but I didn’t get the idea that giving Mommy a gift on this day was considered appropriate until I was three or so; I got the hint when I saw Dad frantically shopping) and last-minute, quasi-throughtful trinkets, what could I do?

Certainly nothing from the boutiques or fancy department stores. And certainly no more semi-useful “appliances” (I still say a blender’s different than a food processor), or gift certificates (to be honest, though, I really thought she would like Pottery Hut).

See, my mother’s a “no-frills” sort of lady; she doesn’t like anything too expensive or fancy. She grew up back in the Old Country amidst simple (but not impoverished) settings. She never had much use for for frippery or frivolity.

What Mom did teach me, was the importance of giving a personalized gift; something that showed a connection between gifter and giftee. That personal touch is what makes a thing a gift.

Just so happens I decided to take her a bit literally this year.

So, this year I’ve giving my mother …thank you cards. More specifically, personalized thank you cards. Even more specifically, a lot of personalized thank you cards.

Thirty-three of them, to be precise. One for each year of my life. One for each year of encouragement, hopes, dreams, guidance, scoldings, and -sometimes- pride. One for each year of hospital trips, of giving comfort when things didn’t go quite as planned. Of always being Mom.

“Thanks for giving birth to me” the first one will read, obviously.

“Thanks for seeing me to my first day of school” will say the fifth.

The eleventh? “Thanks for forgiving me about the rug”.

The sixteenth? “Thanks for helping me learn to drive”.

The eighteenth? “Thanks for mending my graduation gown”.

The twenty-first? “Again, thank you for forgiving me about the rug.”

The thirtieth? “Thanks for being at my wedding”.

Maybe each year wasn’t a milestone, but as I’ve learned recently, not every year has to be, to give some simple words of praise to the woman who’s raised me and responsible for my value system.

What will this year’s personalized thank you card read, I wonder?

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I’ll never forget that Fall Day, nearly twenty years ago.

It was the first day of school, and my first day of junior high. It wasn’t quite high school, but it definitely wasn’t grade school so that meant I was a Grownup, of course.

It didn’t go especially well. The new bus I had to take was very crowded and I found myself crammed into a seat among the other nervous preteens from the surrounding districts. In order to avoid hunching over like some movie monster I had to set my brand new backpack down on the bus floor. It had some neat stuff in it; my folks had gotten me my very own set of personalized stationery for kids. My name was on everything.

We got to our new school and there was a mad rush to get off the bus and get to class. I barely had time to snatch up my precious backpack before it got trampled underfoot.

Or so I thought.

I got to my first class, homeroom, and braced myself for the start of my new school career. I was ready. I reached into my backpack and pulled out a memopad….that wasn’t mine.

The backpack looked the same, sure, but its contents were completely alien to me. The folders and notebooks had kittens on them. Kittens, and ponies, and unicorns. Unicorns for goodness’ sake! Where were my hardcore folders feature sports stars and robots?

“Excuse me…?”

I turned to see a girl standing before me. I froze; I’d seen her on the seat across the aisle from me on the bus. She was pretty, I noticed, and talking to me. Usually that didn’t compute. But hey! Less than one hour into junior high and girls were talking to me! I mustered my best grown up man voice.

“Yes?” I squeaked. I immediately began berating myself internally.

She held out a very familiar looking backpack. “I think this is yours,” she said.

“Oh.” The backpacks were identical. I sheepishly handed hers over. “Nice kittens.” I managed to say.

She rolled her eyes and I panicked. “Oh don’t tell me. My mom’s big on all this girly stuff. I liked yours better.”

“Really?” I said, honestly (and pleasantly) surprised.

“Oh yeah,” she smiled. She had a nice smile. “Robots are cool.Your custom stationery’s even cooler than mine.”

She showed me her personalized memopads. We laughed.

And that’s how my wife and I met.

So for those of you who are aware it’s the Year of the Rabbit, Happy New Year!

For those of you scratching your head and wondering if I’ve just now come out of some holiday-crazed stupor, I’d like to wish you all a very Happy New Year… the Chinese New Year, the be precise!

As some of you may be able to surmise from my last name, I am very proud to have Chinese as my ethnic hyphen. Even though I’m pretty Westernized, having been born and raised in the US of A, my family’s seen to it that I retain some of the more enjoyable traditions.

And after all, who can say no to a celebration that lasts the better part of two weeks (it really does)! It’s considered a time of renewal, and the discarding of the old things from the ending year, including debts, grudges, and sometimes dishware.

Of course, the celebrations are a bit more subdued than the more familiar New Year’s celebrations, usually just a large feat with family.

Well, this year it’s going to be different. I’m going to ring in the Lunar New Year like most Westerners do the Solar one, with all my friends and family around. I’m going to throw a bona fide party.

It’ll be a proper celebration, with personalized invitations to all of my friends, both Chinese and non, written in calligraphy (may need some help with that, come to think of it). We’ll gather and say farewqell to the bad luck of the old year and welcome the New with the one aspect common to all cultural celebrations: an egregious amount of food. Noodles to symbolize longevity, roast duck to symbolize prosperity, and little bean cakes to symbolize I’m not sure what, but they are delicious!

Proper table settings are in order, with chopsticks and yes, those wide spoons everyone can’t help but mention. I wonder if I can get personalized napkins in red and gold (the colors of fortune)!

And then later maybe we’ll all head down to Chinatown to catch the lion dancers. If you’ve never seen such a performance before, I urge you to do so.

Probably best I hold the party at the beginning of the two week period; it’ll take me that long to write and send out the personalized thank you notes!

And the best part of the Chinese New Year? You don’t have to be Chinese to enjoy it! Guang shi fa tzai!

Okay, so maybe going to University didn’t result in my writing habits improving. But who can be surprised? I was never really good at it in the first place and having a free e-mail account didn’t help matters any. No matter how nice and fancy the personalized stationery was, it could not compensate for decades of laziness.

I kept the set with me, though; it was a gift, after all, and the folks taught me that discarding a gift was an insult to the one who’d given it to you. And after time, I did find use for that beautiful set.

I was majoring in English and turns out I had the misfortune of getting the oldest, toughest professor on campus. Doctor Forgeron had been head of the literature department since the University had had a literature department. He was your typical old school professor and it was well known he disdained the use of computers and most trappings of the digital age.

At the end of the term, I was struggling in the Forge’s Modern Rhetoric class, and passing hinged on me excelling, no impressing with my final essay. I had one weekend left before I had to turn in my paper (procrastination also being a bad habit) and had yet to even decide on a thesis.

I spent a good few hours staring at my computer screen, trying to muster the words, and finally my eyes fell on the pad paper with my monogram, poking out from under a pile of pizza menus. A thought struck me, and I put away my keyboard and picked up a pen.

That winter break I returned home with an A in the Forge’s class. I had turned in an entirely handwritten essay, the first Doctor Forgeron had received in well over two decades. And on personalized stationery, no less. The topic  I had chosen? The Reclamation of the Personal Touch in Modern Day Communication. Not only had I earned a passing grade, but something akin to respect from the harshest professor in the entire school.

Of course, my first stop after coming home was visiting Aunt Mim. Over tea, I told her how her graduation gift had essentially helped me pass my toughest class.

She smiled as she sipped her tea and dabbed at her mouth with a monogrammed napkin. “What did I tell you, young man? The personal touch is what makes all the difference.”

Turns out, this would follow me through the next few years.

So, let me tell you about my Aunt Mim.

She wasn’t really my aunt, of course, not in the literal way, but rather she was one of many Aunts and Uncles I and my seven siblings grew up with out in the country, a long line of men and women our folks either grew up with, were best friends with, or had some other close relationship.

She wasn’t just Aunt Mim to us kids; Mom and Dad had called her Aunt Mim as well, and seeing as how the lady had to to have been in her seventies when I met her, it wasn’t hard to believe. In fact no one in the immediate family could remember how she’d come to be our Aunt Mim, but it didn’t matter, after all.

She was a funny old lady; one of those proper, well-mannered types that never went out without a hat and would never arrive at your home unannounced. Even if it was hand-delivered by her housekeeper a few hours before, she’d always send this lovely handwritten note on monogrammed stationery, declaring she’d be along shortly for a “social call”.

I loved Aunt Mim. I never saw her smile, or laugh beyond a reserved (dignified) chuckle, but you could always tell the lady had a big heart, even if she had a tough time showing it.

When I graduated high school she surprised me by showing up at my graduation party (well, maybe not surprised- another custom printed note had arrived hours prior) she sauntered into the midst of a bunch of rowdy teenagers and handed me a small parcel.

“What’s this, Aunt Mim?” I asked, even though I already knew. My three older siblings had received the same gift years prior.

It was a personalized stationery set; a lovely set of creamy white paper with my initials on it. What’s more, she had included Thank You Notes, also monogrammed, and there was enough for every person at the party.

“Young man,” she had said (she always called me that) “A proper gentleman always remembers to thank his guests for attending his soiree.”

I smiled. “Thanks, Aunt Mim.”

“I fully expect to hear from you as you attend university,” she’d gone on. “Hand written, of course, none of this e-mail nonsense you children play with. I’ve seen to it, personally.”

“I promise, Aunt Mim,” I said, knowing I’d be too lazy to write anything, especially a personalized letter, no matter how nice the stationery.

Little did I know I’d be surprised again.

So here comes Valentine’s Day.  Again. Seems like it was just last year when we had to…oh, that’s right.

It’s a crafty thing, Valentine’s Day; always laying in wait for you to recover from the dense holiday season.  After New Year’s you figure you’re due a little respite from the holiday craze (holicraze?)So you devote January to getting things back to normal (procrastinating throwing out your Christmas tree, trying to take down decorations, etc) and then BOOM it’s February and you’ve got two weeks ‘til “V-Day”.

It seems to come earlier and earlier every year and no matter how much you plan, you’re never quite prepared. Myself, I always seem to forget until it’s right on top of me and everyone asks me what I’m doing for my wife. My response is usually a blank stare and mumbling “doing for whaaaaaoh no, it’s Valentine’s Day!”

Every year. Almost without fail. And by then all the swank restaurants are booked solid and all the great gift ideas are sold out.

But for those of you who wish to impress without distress, think quality over quantity. Sure getting out and about is nice for V-Day, but if you’re like me and the missus, you can appreciate a nice quiet evening at home just as much.

So why not make the night special without the pressure and stress? It’s good to take time to enjoy the little things. Make a night of it (everyone else is) and start the week leading up to it right. Maybe little personalized notes left in obvious places, a formal invitation written on your customized stationery. Dinner at home (preferably home-cooked, unless you one of those “burn down the kitchen” types) with all the elegant trimmings. Go ahead, do the whole candlelit dinner thing; it’s an oldie but a goodie. Personalized napkins add a nice touch as well!

And who needs a broadway show when you can play one of your favorite movies on the player, one you both love. And if it’s a musical, no one gets annoyed if you sing along (-except maybe your neighbors…the party poopers)!

The rest of the night can play out in a myriad of different ways, but the important thing is to celebrate these special moments. After all, doing so gets harder the farther times moves on, and if you think about it, special days like Valentine’s Day are really about how YOU (and your loved ones) make them special!