It is an obsession I share. I grieved when my two volumes of the Compact
Oxford English Dictionary fell apart.
We still have a lot of books that
define words. An American Sign Language
Dictionary, an American Heritage Dictionary, a Roget II Thesaurus, a Webster’s
Thesaurus.
Jacky R.
Ettinger Xmas ‘44
The binding is worn, the pages
are yellow. But the words remain.
When Jean first asked me the
meaning of a word, I went to Dictionary.com & printed out the definition.
That worked for years. Until the requests for a dictionary of her own
grew recently became more vocal, more insistent.
My Dictionary.com research was no
longer acceptable. Jean wanted a
hardcover copy of a dictionary.
I understand that tactile need -
to hold a book, to touch a text, absorb it.
To engage in the play, the exchange between reader & text.
The fonts in all our books that
define words were too small for Jean to read.
The size of a text’s font is always a challenge for her.
Last week, Jean made it clear:
I need to talk to you. I need a
dictionary when I read a book.
Naturally, I went to Amazon. Large print dictionaries for adults are
rare. I scrolled through large print
editions, almost all designed for children.
Finally, I found a hardcover,
large print volume for high school students.
The Webster’s New Explorer Large Print Dictionary.
It arrived via the magic of
Amazon Prime over the weekend. I gave it
to Jean the next morning after church as a surprise.
When Jean reads, the Dictionary
is on her tray along with whatever book she has chosen. Often when I check on her, it is open.
In addition to a dictionary of
her own, Jean has been lobbying for silver sneakers.
At first, I suggested that sneakers would be
uncomfortable in bed. She has a supply
of sequined slippers, in a variety of colors, that slip gently onto her feet.
She countered:
I bet if
I had silver sneakers, I could get up & walk.
At first, I thought her request
was inspired by my glittery silver Toms.
But silver sneakers entered the conversation no matter what shoes I was
wearing.
If I had
silver sneakers, I bet I could fly.
Recently, the desire for silver
sneakers has escalated. Tonight, we
watched a news story about Queen Elizabeth giving up fur in favor of fake fur.
Jean joked:
My
goodness, what is the world coming to?
I commented that we would never
seen Liz in furs again.
Then Jean said:
Now I
really wish I had my silver sneakers.
I asked her what she would do in
her silver sneakers.
I would
get up & run. Or better yet, I would
get up & walk.
When I asked if silver sneakers
were magic, she assured me that they were.
Next, I asked her how she knew about
magic silver sneakers.
Well,
they talk about them all the time on TV.
I replied:
No doubt we
both need magic sneakers.
It hit me then (I am often
slow on the uptake) that the magic silver sneakers Jean heard about all the
time on TV referred to “Silver Sneakers,” the gym memberships available with many
Medicare plans.
Somehow Jean pulled out that
thread – silver sneakers - & wove into a narrative of her own. A magic, life altering tool that would return the mobility
taken from her by her Parkinson’s.
I ordered the silver sneakers a
few days ago – they arrived this evening.
They are quite fine & exude glittery magic.
Now I am faced with a
dilemma.
Do I save the magic silver
sneakers for Christmas, or do I give them to Jean now so that she can begin to
get up & soar?
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