...for a woman who wears size one (pants - both skinny jeans and harem pants -, shorts, small tops) and likes high heels, a knitter who doesn't mind acrylic yarns, someone who likes wall hangings in needlepoint style and featuring sayings about Gods' gifts, someone who enjoys untangling knots (especially in those mesh hammocks from Central America), someone who likes ceramic owls and scented candles, and who needs some of those plastic Easter eggs you put candy in. It is a bright, attractive display. Earlier, as I sat here writing this, a number of people stopped by and sorted through the bags and boxes. One guy - twenty-something, black-haired, tight jeans and a fitted t-shirt - actually crossed the street to look. I can't imagine what he'll find to take home, unless he has a secret love of women's high-heeled strappy sandals. Which, of course, he might.
The list of items brings my grandmother, my dad's mom, to mind with the ceramic owls. Late in my teens, she expressed to many of us that she had a liking for owls. I don't know what it was about them - the roundness of their eyes and their faces, the sleekness of their heads, the silence of their flight - but as you can guess, for years thereafter, owls became the default gift for her. Can't think of what to get Grandma G----? How about an owl? She had ceramic owls, glass owls, carved wooden owls. She finally had to plead, "No more owls." What I hope is that with each owl, she saw someone who loved her, who wanted to give her something she liked, to bring her pleasure.
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