Overheard at Table 1: ... and George

I remember a short story that I read once.  A Christmas story.  It was written sometime between the 20s, to the 50s... probably 40s are the most likely.  I think it was in a collection of short stories that had been printed in the New Yorker. 

It was about 4 pages long, and it was about a guy, can't remember his name, but I think it was George.  He walked up the steps to a Christmas party, and when he walked inside, all the presents were sitting on the table, and while everybody else was congregated in the other room, he went through the tags and added his name to each one.  "... and George" 

Such as "Love from Charles and Sue ... and George!"

Or maybe the story was at a wedding reception ... that would make more sense.

I don't know.  That's all I can remember.   Kills me that I can't remember the story, or be able to find it.  I've looked through my books, the collections of short stories, the collections of Christmas stories, collections of New Yorker stories, but I can't find it.

Strange.

Overread at Table 3: from "Bike Trails of Canada"

Marcel Proust once wrote, “… the only true paradise is always the paradise we have lost.”

 

                But what if that’s not true?

                At least not entirely?


                What if the one true paradise is the one that we have never seen?
                The one that we wish for, the one we yearn for? the one that we see in our dreams?

                What if the one true paradise is the spouse that we have created in our minds?

                The house that we have pieced together out of photos of houses in magazines, or the insides of houses that we have seen?
                The rolling ocean when we live in a land-locked state?
                The open fields when we are living in the urban jungle?


The paradise that we have lost is the one that we can never reclaim, but the one that we have not yet obtained, that paradise is always perfect, always true.