One of the ways to mark a top for the tiny stitches of quilting is to use a pen with disappearing ink. Some wash away with a rinse, others simply fade over a day or two. At a time when I was toting a double wedding ring around with me to work on at the park or waiting in the doctor's office I carried such a marker in my
purse.
When I was leafing through the mail on a Saturday morning I came across the cancelled checks from the bank. One of them had no signature, and yet it was cashed.
"John, look at this. I forgot to sign it!" He came over to see and concurred that the line was empty. Then I figured it out.
"I signed it with my quilting pen!"
"I think that's a federal offense," he commented.
I was not convicted of a crime, but I did stop bringing that marker with me.
Last month a friend showed me her office. It was resplendent with artifacts from her travels abroad, and her love of beauty. She is a long time faculty member and cares deeply for her students from many years.
"Here is a note from a young man who was grateful for my class. Oh, the writing has faded." In truth the paper was completely blank. "This is another from a girl who said I inspired her. But the writing has bleached away."
While the ink had succumbed to sunlight, the affection was intact. Rather I believe it had increased over time, and my friend could feel it as freshly as if it were still wet.
Which of our efforts to create meaning for another person endure? In times of bounty they can feel superfluous. Yet in days of uncertainty, they can seem too small.
Benjamin has been writing notes. He includes jokes, and good wishes for people who are isolated or sick. I do not know yet if they will bring cheer. But I recall a friend who went through a divorce who spoke to me years later.
"That December I was dropped from most people's Christmas card lists. But you sent me one. And you added a message, saying you still cared." His eyes filled. I guess some feelings don't wash away, even with tears.
