My son brought the printer home in a foam case, along with four colors of filament. The gold, he told me, was “basically heirloom.” He set everything up in the mudroom and put his podcast about a podcast on zone four. The printer ran for three days.
Tonight he showed us what he'd made. Eleven Christmas ornaments. Most are snowflakes, with names worked into the pattern. He explained the geometry; I remember “fractal.” His grandmother held hers up to the parlor light for a long time without saying anything.
He made one for each of Deb's grandchildren too. He has heard me reading the Deb entries at Sunday dinner. “She's clearly family now, Mom,” he said. I hadn't realized he was keeping track of the presents as well as the stories.
Marina's says her name, and underneath it, “The Sleeve.” He knew about that from the diary. Apparently the whole family reads it. He also noticed that two of the mugs had been put back in the wrong order and corrected them. Jonathan went to look at the shelf within the hour.
The last ornament is our house, in gold, made from the camera photographs Brian sent him. Brian was apparently delighted to provide the elevations. You can feel the café lights in a little raised line along the garden. I checked with my fingertip.
I've hung it at eye level on the tree. I had a good deal to say about that printer when he first wanted it. I am very glad he brought it home.
Merry Christmas from Burling Street.
— Ash