Can something be so singularly beautiful as this. So perfect in its simplicity. And so unchanged since maybe forever because it can’t be improved. Baker’s Twine might be what it’s called most. A small detail, this.
This red and white string kept so many precious things intact after some little bubbie placed a handful of sweets in a white box. She knew what to select because I’d point at the glass case. One of these. Four of those.
I was partial to butter cookies. Those sold by weight. Some call these Italian biscuits. Mine were baked by Jewish people. Sometimes Polish. None of that mattered. The delight was nestled in a carton protected by this.
Nothing has changed since my first memories waiting in line at the bakery. Bubbies come and go. Even the storefronts do. The recipes don’t vary much. I still point at the same several favorites. And savor the moments until I can untie the string.
All This By Hand