a man who is...

...hard to buy gifts for. When he wants something, he will in all likelihood buy it for himself. I am probably the same way, meaning if there is something I think I really want, I am not likely to say: 'you can put this on that list of things you want to remember when gift-giving time comes around, and instead of asking me or wondering, you will know I'm wishing I had a _ _ _ _.' I am pretty good at making mental notes about other people, and remembering their wishes, when they are thinking out loud or mumbling about something they don't think they deserve.

I was doing the laundry today, for the guy who apparently continues to believe in the Clean Underwear Fairy. Doing the basket of white things that did not get taken care of on Monday. And found some handkerchiefs. You don't often see men who put one in their pocket every morning when they get dressed. Just not in common usage these days. But this guy always tucks one in his back pocket. The ones I was folding after they came out of the dryer have something stitched on a corner. Some have a little blue heart. Some have his initials, some just say 'Dad'.

Every time I fold a clean one to put back in the drawer, I think of the daughter who took the time to stitch on the corner of each white square of fabric. Who took the time with a needle and thread to personalize a whole box of hankies before she gave them to him as a Christmas gift. I doubt he gives it a thought when it tucks it in his hip pocket, but I always think of her when I am folding them into tidy little squares.

My granddad died in 1981, living in a nursing  home in south GA. He had dementia and was not aware of his circumstances, his family or much of anything about life. When I asked my grandmother, who devotedly went to see him each day to help him with lunch, she suggested he could use some new handkerchiefs for a Christmas gift.

The staff at the nursing  home would dress their residents in an assortment of clothing, whatever was at hand, whether it belonged to that particular patient or not. Though she would write his last name in each article of clothing,  my grandmother could expect to find her husband of sixty-plus years dressed in anyone's pants and shirt. Though she never knew whose clothing he might be wearing, he would always have a hanky in his pocket that has his last name neatly stitched on a corner in bright red thread.