Maria is not a simple person, I love her complexity and moods and quirks. She is not like the other children. I am not either, so we understand each other.

One of our continuing conflicts is about presents.

I love to give her and the other people I love things. I get them shirts, bracelets, books, I always ached for surprises when I was a kid, and I am addicted to giving things to people.

It is selfish, primarily, it makes me feel good. Also, Maria is one of those people who never got presents and never ever bought anything much for herself. She lives out of thrift shops.

Most people love getting surprises. I love to see the smiles on their faces. With Maria, it isn’t so easy. I saw these flowers in the Farmer’s Market Sunday, and I know how much she buys flowers. I get them for her all year, especially in the winter.

We both had a tough weekend emotionally speaking, I knew the flowers would cheer her up. They always do.

This arrangement was amazing, it practically called out to be with her, it was deep and rich and almost explosively beautiful. The flowers wanted to be given to her, I could feel it. What better place could a flower go?

But accepting gifts is always hard for Maria, especially living with someone like me.

Maria feels shame when she gets gifts, a product of the somewhat insane way she was raised. She feels she is not worthy of a gift, and the bigger and nicer the gift, the more ashamed and unworthy she feels.

This has led to some intense discussions during our time together. I thought I was going to get thrown out of the house when I got her her first I phone.

She cried when I gave her these flowers. First, because they were so beautiful. Then, because there should only have been a few, they were too much, too big. Then because they must have cost too much money ($16) and finally, because she didn’t deserve to have them, and there were people in so much greater need.

I’m used to this, I just take a deep breath and wait. Arguing with somebody who is half Sicilian and half German is pointless.

I smiled (inwardly) at this full gamut of neurotic and self-deprecating and self-induced guilt. I learned a lot about guilt from my mother. I am impervious to it.

I told her I did not accept any of her arguments, and I was happy to give her these flowers and I knew she would love them and take great care of them. They were depending on her, I said. This is true. They knew better than to depend on me.

Maria took the flowers and spent 20 minutes talking to them, singing to them, cutting the stems and arranging them.

She found a beautiful blue vase for them and moved them from one room to another, see if they liked the light, explaining what she was doing to them, complimenting them on their very diverse beauty and depth, experimenting, rotating and studying (and watering) them.

This morning, when we got up, Maria came up to me and gave me a big hug and a kiss, which I love to get in the morning (or anytime, really).

She thanked me for giving her the flowers. She finally decided to put them in front of the Windowsill Gallery, she could see they like the light. I think it’s a great choice.