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It’s the thought that counts
I grew up in the boonies of northern New York in a small college town not far from the Canadian border. My family moved there from New York City when I was 5 years old and it was a major culture shock for my mother especially. She taught me early on that the farther upstate you were, meaning anything past Westchester, the fewer brain cells you were perceived to have by anyone from the city. Even though we were hours away from the city, we did have some features of civilization—supermarkets and what not. Despite that, my Grandma Esther would send us care packages with things that she imagined would be impossible to buy now that we were in the wilderness living among the wolves. She mailed us heavy boxes sealed with reinforced packing tape, wrapped in brown craft paper, and tied with string. Upon finally opening the boxes, the contents became clear. The mainstays were the packs of Hefty garbage bags, drum-sized cans of Maxwell House coffee, Bic ballpoint pens, and bundles of yellow legal pads. After that, there was some variation—footed pajamas from Woolworth’s that never fit, a bulk supply of nail clippers, combs, or individually wrapped rain bonnets. What kid doesn’t want her own rain bonnet? If it was spring, she included hamantaschen and noisemakers for Purim—two things we couldn’t get where we lived. One time, she included something special, gift-wrapped boxes each with our names on them. I shook mine, trying to guess what it might be. There was a muffled rattle, so I was sure it was jewelry of some sort. I tore a piece of the wrapping paper and gasped. There it was: the Sun-Maid raisin lady staring back at me! I unwrapped the entire thing and discovered a six-pack of raisins. I don’t want to appear ungrateful, but it was many years before I could eat raisins without an odd sense of disappointment. As an adult, looking back, I understand that it’s the thought that counts. It was how she expressed her love for us, and I get nostalgic thinking about my grandmother and her care packages.
Stay safe and healthy,
Tracy Jacobs
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