Writing Assignment:
Without using your hands (you’re writing) describe an accordion and how it works.
I know a tougher one: without using your hands describe a fitted sheet, how to put it on a mattress, how to fold it. Maddening. The older I get the the harder it is—to do it—the folding, that is.
I read of a person who wanted to be a writer and who took a writing course that included that kind of writing assignment. Turned out he was a whiz at describing things; he ended up with a good job writing descriptions of stuff for catalogues.
This, as a preamble to what I have to write now: some descriptions of things. It’s not easy.
Past gifts:
1) A new toilet paper dispenser. Older bathrooms have built-in niches for toilet paper rolls that used to be a standard size, guaranteed to fit the space. Years have passed and now you’ll find toilet paper rolls double and triple the size of earlier ones. A friend sent me a toilet paper dispenser with a drop-down hinge to make any roll slide down from the tight space while it didn’t fit and then slide up when it was partially used and slim enough to fit. I must have complained to my friend about one of life’s little annoyances. I think of her every day, obviously, and thank her, may she rest in peace.
2) An orange peeler. Well, it’ not really a peeler, it’s a help-peeler. It’s a 5-inch plastic stick--orange, of course--with a tiny hook at one end and an equally tiny shovel shape at the other. You slice through the orange peel with the hook, but not through to the flesh, several times around the fruit, and then with the little shovel you lift the edges of the partially open skin and pee it off. It’s easy with Clementines or Mandarins and a real help with Navels. My friend knew that I eat an orange every day and I send her my thanks and my blessing every morning, may she rest in peace.
3) A glasses lanyard? Would you call it a lanyard? It’s a kitchen tool for me. The same friend gave me this: a cord with slide-on grippers for the stems of my reading glasses so that I can wear them around my neck and put them on quickly when I need to read the measurements (in such fine print!) in a recipe. RIP
These were latter-day gifts when we were older and either had everything or had less money and could not afford to buy gifts for friends who had everything. They matched my father’s plastic hair brush for thoughtfulness and care. The brush is gone but I still use the other items.
You’ve heard the expression, “It’s the thought that counts”. It’s true. It takes time, though.
It took me a lot of time to write this.