There’s no one like Paulette.
Family. She knows the beauty of family, and the fraying of family.
Friends. She knows the value of a faithful friend, and she knows living lonely.
Wealth. She knows bounty, and she knows scarcity.
Generosity. She knows how to fill a room with thoughtfully purchased, impeccably wrapped gifts. And she knows what it feels like to be a gift-giver without the means to exercise that gift.
Education. She knows a sharp mind cultivated through Highland Park schools, A&M undergrad with a master’s from Baylor. And she knows multiple degrees don’t guarantee prosperity.
She lives alone, kind of. Demi bounces around the tiny apartment, filling the space with playful puppy energy, a little compadre in shitzu form. Demi is all she really needs and wants, most days.
Her favorite days are cloud-covered, cold, dark, as she hunkers in the warmth of her creatively decorated nest of an apartment.
She makes her living selling once-beloved items on Poshmark. Designer boots and bags that during a different season of life made sense. She’s got her eye out for bulk online purchases that she can sell piece-by-piece.
And among the clutter of masking tape, bubble wrap and mailing envelopes sits a family-sized bag of hard candy. On a recent visit Corbin teased her about the candy, consuming all that sugar on the clock.
“Oh no, that’s for my Poshmark clients. They each get a little surprise when they open my package.”
Because extra resources or not, gift-givers find a way to give.
