By the time we send next week’s digest, St. Nicholas Day will have come and gone. Consequently, I’ll say a word about it today, and then tell you about an idea that came to me.

First, we’re approaching the date (December 6th) for the commemoration of the real St. Nick, a 4th-century bishop and patron saint of Greece, Russia, sailors, and children. St. Nicholas’ feast day evokes more fanfare elsewhere in the world than it does in the U.S. Nonetheless, it has taken on more significance in our family since I began, a few years ago, to have the grandkids put out their shoes on the night of December 5th.

I long knew this tradition through poems, songs, and paintings, of course. But the practice of celebrating St. Nicholas Day impressed itself more on me once I began working “Holiday Market” tours for Smithsonian Journeys. Whenever the dates of these tours span December 6th, we inevitably encounter events relating to St. Nicholas, including watching dumbstruck from the comfort of our ship’s dining room as residents of a town along the Rhine tugged a small raft through the cold waters, holding torches in one hand and paddling (mostly in wet suits) with the other—all so that they could parade a beautifully bedecked and illuminated “St. Nicholas” standing on that raft, waving to locals on the shore. Brrr!

Also, our tour guests (all adults) are encouraged on December 5th to put their shoes out in the hallway next to their cabin doors before going to bed. As you might guess, some guests express disbelief (“Do they really mean this?”); others resist (“I’m not putting my shoes out in anybody’s hall!”). Best of all, though, are the conversations I overhear the next morning when guests whose shoes stayed in their closet bemoan the pretty items stuffed in their more trusting fellow-travelers’ shoes!

I bring all this up because I’m departing late next week on a Holiday Market tour. While it does not span St. Nicholas Day this year, it will take us squarely into the world of European Advent (Christmas) Markets. In cities as wide-ranging as Interlaken, Strasbourg, Rüdesheim, and Aachen, we will partake of this centuries-old tradition where residents bedeck their historic squares and boulevards for the whole period of Advent, constructing little booths to sell seasonal ornaments, wooly and fleecy items, candles, traditional toys, and traditional sweets. As festive as these offerings are, the better part of the Advent Markets involves the camaraderie enjoyed daily by local residents, especially in the evenings: festive music, ice skating in the town square, and the endless consumption of fragrant hot beverages (cider, cocoa, Glühwein). Our friends in Weimar, for example, enjoy their Christmas market nearly every day of the whole of Advent, visiting with their neighbors, and experiencing each night’s entertainment. Except for what they consume, these evenings cost nothing. The atmosphere is relaxed and delightfully authentic. How different this is from the hectic pressure we feel in the U.S., urged to exhaust ourselves by filling shopping bags with items no one needs so that we can evoke the “joy” of the season.

On the other hand, what is sweeter than giving a gift to someone we admire or love? So that is the dilemma, right? And from this dilemma came my little idea.

What if, this year, I, we, you . . . whoever it might be . . . were to create a new type of gift—a gift we already give piecemeal throughout the year without formalizing it? What if we were to present, or somehow assemble in a clever, engaging way, a list of recommendations for things we have discovered over the past year (or longer)? These would be things that delighted, fulfilled, or challenged us, things we guess would do the same for the recipient of each gift.

The list could begin with the obvious—titles of books, films, paintings, pieces of music, as well as recommendations for groups who perform these works. The internet has brought forth opportunities to see and hear so many wonderful things, and to follow groups we enjoy, such as the recommendation Hank and I often give endorsing any performance by the singing group Voces8.

Then, we could move on to other types of recommendations. These could include a newly opened café, a terrific hiking trail, a good playground, or a fine shop filled with local crafts. We might want to share information about events, too, such as a monthly on-line book club offered by a favorite independent bookstore, a terrific series of podcasts (Memoria Press’s Et cetera series comes to mind), or an  opportunity to engage in projects that are charitable or geared to beautifying our neighborhoods and towns.

Some people might recommend quaint Airbnb’s or obscure vacation destinations. Others would recommend their churches and synagogues. Still others might recommend a fascinating retreat or conference scheduled for upcoming months. It goes without saying that the possibilities are endless!

This idea hit me while I was sitting up a few nights ago, reading an intriguing book recommended to me by one of the masters’ students in the Great Books program at Memoria College, a program where I have the pleasure of offering courses on music, art, and Russian literature. The ardent recommendation by this student of Everyday Saints and Other Stories by Archimandrite Tikhon (Shevkunov) led me to buy the book. It sat on my shelf for six months until two nights ago, when I picked it up. Now this book and I are joined in a dance familiar to all of you: an invisible call to spend every spare minute within its pages.

Yet, I never would have encountered this book without a personal recommendation. In fact, many of the best books on my shelves would not be there, had they not been personally recommended. The same goes for films that have been spectacular, and new musical repertoire that has wowed my ears and mind.

Personal recommendations give us the benefit of others’ experience. They open doors, bring substance and quality into our lives due to the effort others have already extended. In short, personal recommendations are gifts, particularly when we feel an intellectual, spiritual, or emotional connection to the recommender. Best of all, such recommendations are free to give, weigh nothing, and cannot break in a suitcase or a shipping box.

What I haven’t figured out is how this gift of recommendations should look in practice. Maybe some of you can give your thoughts about it (thumbs up, thumbs down, tweaks, suggestions), and help me take it to the next step.