The box is a perfect square measuring about 10 inches on each side. It is wrapped in gift paper with blue and green diamond shapes. On the top of the box is a bow, a green/blue bow that goes nicely with the gift wrap. The gift card attached to the ribbon reads: "For Joyce."

This is the third year that the box has appeared. It's starting to show a little age along its neatly creased edges. This year it popped up right after Thanksgiving and I suspect we will see it at least until the New Year is rung in.

The lonely gift box sits on the counter near the cash register of the little grocery where I buy my paper and morning muffin. There are no instructions or explanations concerning the box. There is no conversation about the gift. But one distinguishing factor of the box tells the whole story. There is a slit cut into the top of the box. The slit is about an inch and a half long and not very wide. The slit is just like the one in the Salvation Army Christmas Kettle. It's a universal looking slit. It is a slit we all know when we see it. It is the slit of a piggy bank. It is a slit for money.

Now I like Joyce and I like gifts and I like giving and receiving gifts. But I don't much like this particular gift box. And I don't like this approach. That said, I think I let it bother me too much.

Gift giving can be tricky business. And sometimes gift receiving can actually be the harder part of the equation. And sometimes, the ribbon on the box is the proverbial "string attached."

I don't think I'm gift impaired. I get the whole chocolate on Valentines and something silver on the silver anniversary. I know a housewarming gift from a birthday gift. I get the joke on a gag gift and a can spot a re-gift when I see it. I'm particularly intrigued by the unexpected and undeserved gift.

A gift that comes with wrapping and bow in a gift box is obvious. Some gifts are more subtle.

Gifts can be empowering. My grandmother gave me organ lessons and those lessons have taken me on keyboard dotted travels from lodge hall basements to magnificent, towering sanctuaries.

Gifts can be transforming. In Victor Hugo's Les Miscerables tale of redemption and revolution a gift turns hero Jean Valjean from the darkness to the light. When Valjean is caught stealing silver from the Bishop who has shown him kindness, the Bishop gifts him the silver and even more. The gift, however, comes laden with enormous responsibility, the charge to start a new and honest life.

I suspect we are all recipients of gifts that we hardly note, gifts that go unacknowledged and possibly, unappreciated. The gift of patience, or of a second chance. The giving of the benefit of the doubt. The gift of attentive listening, or of an unhurried visit.

The gift of appreciation. Appreciation is probably one of the most significant gifts one can give. It's not about thing, but rather about person.

I think about Joyce behind the counter all day. She puts up with a cast of characters. She makes sandwiches and coffee and feeds people. She's the neighborhood bookie selling the lottery tickets. Back behind the counter Joyce is the one with the liquor and the cigarettes, the cough medicine and the Band-Aids. She sees all sides of us on the other side of the counter. She sees us when sick and when feeling lucky. She sees us when we're hungry and when we're in a hurry.

And so maybe Joyce's gift box is that reminder we all need. She needs our appreciation.

Maybe sometimes we must ask for our gifts. Maybe that's why it's complicated - this custom called gift giving.