In a season of giving, always remember to say thank you

The best holiday gifts come from the heart.

You already knew that, didn't you?

Sure, it would be nice to get one of those sporty convertibles I've been coveting ever since my first midlife crisis. My wife even says all the right things, suggesting she would love to get me one if she could. But we both know I don't like wind. That's one of the reasons we no longer live in Kansas. And folding my tall and ample body into a motor vehicle that's too small for Shriner clowns doesn't make a lot of sense, does it?

So it's very unlikely you will see me with windblown hair and facial sunburn anytime soon.

In spite of another Christmas with no convertible, I am a happy and content man. I have reached that stage in life that used to be occupied by the older adults in my life: the impossible-to-buy-for crowd.

Now I know what they meant when they said, "I don't need anything."

Folks, I don't need anything.

And I remember all too well those frustrating years when my wife and I shopped and searched and struggled to find just the right gifts for those "I don't need anything" people.

I don't wish that on anybody.

In spite of my current state of affairs, many of you have seen fit to give me gifts anyway. They have been thoughtful gifts, and I hope I have demonstrated more than a little bit how much they have been appreciated.

While any list of thank yous takes the risk of leaving someone out, I'm going to tell you about some of my special gifts this year.

First, a big thank you to our across-the-street neighbors who are lucky enough to have two huge forsythia bushes we can see every time we look out our living-room windows. Like many other spring-blooming shrubs, these forsythia bushes erupted in full flower about a month ago and have radiated their golden splendor until this week's killing frost.

Thanks.

Next, there are those of you who not only recognize my addiction to fruitcake in December, but also join me in my unending quest to restore fruitcake to its rightful place in culinary history. These are people who understand that fruitcake is so much more than candied fruit and rum.

Indeed, the ability to enjoy eating fruitcake and express genuine appreciation for gifts of fruitcake is, I think, an indication of a real understanding of the holiday season. So if you like preparing, giving or eating fruitcake, count yourself among the chosen few who must endure incredible social pressures to switch to fudge, cookies shaped like snowmen or pretzels covered with icing.

This year's fruitcake honor roll includes Judi Naeter, who discovered the amazingly rich fruitcakes produced by students at the School of the Ozarks at Point Lookout, Mo. This school, where all the students work while learning, raises a nice chunk of funding through fruitcake sales. The best part of this endeavor is that the school is fostering the fruitcake tradition by teaching young men and women to be fruitcake bakers of the future. God bless them in this noble work.

And thank you, Judi, for sharing.

Next comes Sandy Riehn, who not only is unafraid to admit she likes fruitcake, but also has a practitioner of the fruitcake arts in her very own family.

Thank you, Sandy, for sharing. And a gold star to your stepfather for giving the gift of perfect homemade fruitcakes.

You also need to know that Sandy makes scrumptious fudge and Christmas cookies. And she shares generously.

Dolly Daumbach came through for the second year in a row with her exquisite miniature fruitcake loaf. As she observed: Now it's a tradition. This is good news, because it means I can look forward to another fruitcake treat from Dolly next year. She isn't likely to forget. I won't let her.

Thanks, Dolly, for being such a trooper on the front lines of the fruitcake battle.

Then there is Heidi Hall. What can you say about Heidi and fruitcake, except that her appreciation of fruitcake literally knows no bounds. Fortunately, her grandparents have made it their mission to see to it that Heidi has a Collin Street Bakery fruitcake shipped every year fresh from the company's ovens in Corsicana, Texas. I don't know about you, but I call that a devotion to the fruitcake tradition of the highest order. And I hereby confer upon Heidi's grandparents, the Dunnes, full membership in the Most Noble Fruitcake Legion of Honor.

And please don't forget Heidi next year when it's time to order those fruitcakes. Thanks, Heidi, for your generous sharing.

Let me also give Laura Johnston credit for her efforts to board the fruitcake bandwagon. Although she hasn't mastered a full-blown fruitcake yet, her peppermint cookies demonstrate she is well on the road to total enlightenment.

Thanks, Laura, for the wonderful cookies.

Lastly, let me tell you about one gift I received this year that I will always treasure. And it isn't even a fruitcake.

Fifty years ago, I started school for the first time at Shady Nook School on Greenwood Valley in the Ozarks west of here. You have already heard much about Shady Nook and about my first-grade teacher, Ola Rayfield, who was the first true love of my life.

This week a Christmas card arrived at our house. The sender remembered that first year of school half a century ago. She remembered me as a special student. And she said she loved me too.

The card was signed: Mrs. Rayfield.

I must say that this Christmas card ranks right up there with the best fruitcake I've ever eaten.

And, in case you're wondering what happens to all the fruitcakes I am lucky enough to receive every year: It is my bounden duty to eat them. It's the least I can do for the honor of fruitcakes everywhere.

It's also one reason why I don't fit in a convertible.

R. Joe Sullivan is the editor of the Southeast Missourian.