We were Peace Corps English teachers in a northern village located far from any other westerners, and it was Christmas Eve. We had decided to throw a party for an Afghan family that we knew well (and yeah, this is not something a foreigner would likely do in a conservative Islamic country now.) Back then it was primarily a chance for us to sit around the string of lights we'd found and not be alone on such a major holiday. It was an opportunity to shower their kids with handfuls of small things we'd bought in the village bazaar: nuts, candy, a few plastic toys, and....
...gasp...a yellow #2 pencil...for little dark-eyed Jamila.
That was the best party I've ever known, the moment of a little girl's great joy at something so small, encapsulated forever in my mind.
It wasn't much bigger than a penny. A hummingbird egg? I'm not sure.
A pencil and an egg, found in the woods: I count that a successful day.