We walked again into town and I bundled up so much (or so I tell myself) that I was surprised to see the curve of my body (not my belly
) at the bottom of my field of vision.
When I was young, I never quite believed my parents when they said they preferred gifts and cards I made myself. No matter what I made, my efforts were never as neat, as polished as a store-bought present.
But now I think I understand. Jenny gave me a sock monkey made by a parishioner at her parents’ church. I haven’t named him yet, but it’s his little variations, his slight imperfections that make him so endearing – one ear a bit larger, a trembling mouth and a doubled-up stitch in his heart. It’s not just the imperfections, of course, but that they come from the person who made them, directly, more than any purchase could.