I made a baby blanket for an office friend for her second baby. Years later she mentioned how "they loved that blanket and always used it on the changing table".
Commenter Julie, you have inadvertently taken me back to 1991. I'm sitting on a small couch I've earnestly slip-covered myself using quilting cotton, in the Miracle Mile District of Los Angeles, opening wedding presents with my first husband. That day we learned that if you don't register for gifts, you receive lots and lots of picture frames.
One of the more interesting gifts we opened was from a colleague of my father's, a labor economist from India. It required some assembly and as it was clearly an antique there were no instructions. I was about to repackage the item and give up, but my ex was an aerospace engineer and was thus able to assemble the three pieces and create this:
If this wedding guest hadn't been from India, we probably would have not over-thought the gift and assumed it to be a candy dish, something you bring out at tea time, or just a general, all-purpose tchotchke holder. But since he wore a turban to our wedding and his wife wore a beautiful yellow sari with gold embroidery, the gift took on more significance.
Not knowing the item's function was only a problem when it came to writing the thank you note:
Thank you so much for the beautiful... it looks so perfect in our...
We called my dad to see if perhaps his colleague had told him what he was giving us and he said, "No, but Swarnjit did tell me he was giving you something very special. So make sure you write him a nice note."
Great.
In the gift's first incarnation in our home, we made it into a candy dish: Hershey's kisses and butterscotch drops. I said to OFD, "I think I'll write, "Thank you for the beautiful piece. It looks perfect in our living room."
OFD said, "But what if it's supposed to go in the bathroom?"
In the end, I think I wrote that the lovely tiered piece complemented our home. That sounded safe.
Now, when you are the one requesting the divorce and the circumstances are as ignoble as mine were, you leave a lot behind that you may have fought for if you'd felt less guilty. The Ex and I divided things pretty evenly along the lines of my side and his side, except when it came to the Toast-R-Oven. It had been given to us by Hen. I felt it was clearly mine, Hen being my brother and all, but the ex wanted it. It may be the first time Hen is hearing of this but it's true: I did not get to keep the Toast-R-Oven. I fought for the giant bowl painted to look like a watermelon and the six accompanying little watermelon bowls and it went without saying that I was taking the miniature dachshund, but I had to let the Toast-R-Oven go in the name of being culpable amicable.
When we came to the mysterious gift, Ex said, "You should take the... whatever the hell this is with you. And if you ever do find out what it is, I'd like to know."
The gift's air of mystery ensured that it would always be on display wherever I lived. It had started as a candy dish, and in my Tenderloin apartment it usually held almond cookies. For several years it held lavender clusters of glass grapes I'd bid on in an eBay auction that I inexplicably had to win or die trying. It's held small oddments of yarn, Barbie dolls, and yes: it's even been in the bathroom as an earring holder. These days it lives in that nebulous place we call Up High, where we keep all things that aren't safe in Olive's reach.
What I'm saying is, it's been 21 years and I still don't know what it is. But if one of you recognizes it, feel free to educate me.





















