Will objects love you back?

Ever feel like inanimate things have a life to them? Pay enough attention to the ordinary objects close to you and you might sense a personality, a presence, something more than just inert matter.

I thought about this when opening a Christmas gift from my sister-in-law Kami in L.A., pulling aside thick layers of bubblewrap to unveil a crystalline wonder:

It was an ashtray, but not just any ashtray. A note accompanying the gift told the back story: it belonged to Kami's father, first a fixture in his Boston bachelor pad in the 60s, then travelling with him to California and becoming a coffee table accoutrement to married life, never used for cigarettes since neither parent smoked, but always there, an everyday treasure to be lifted and carefully resettled when Kami did her weekly dusting chore.

I was stunned: the object had travelled to my hands, Kami's now-deceased parents unaware. She'd inherited it and knew that its eventual owner must be someone who'll cherish it. After reading my article in praise of ashtrays and being encouraged by my brother, she decided as my "secret Santa" that it was now mine:

I couldn't have expressed it better than she did at the end of her note:

Of course, objects don't have the power to love us. But in moments like these, it seems they do.

It's like moonlight entrancing us, persuading us for a moment its source is the moon. In reality, we are suns lighting up the things around us. They become luminous with our affection, graciously bouncing it back.