A Little Something for Your Stocking   Oh yes, I remember the lists — the stuff I wanted, the pistols and balls and jeans of an American boyhood, As Seen On TV. Too much was never enough, and every year my greed grew more nuanced, more cunning in how it parsed possibility, craftier at getting its fill of desirable goodies and gewgaws, seasoned with the scent of pine, those songs we all know, the make-believe mystery. And something about religion, and free candy. I was a kid — was I so wrong? But . . . we’re not kids anymore, we’re not who we were. Let’s let each other off the hook this year — no lists. Surprise me with a book, or nothing. All I want is all of you.                                                         for Marti     © Michael Fleming Williamsville, Vermont December 2012