A helping hand. Or not.
Way back in the dim recesses of kidhood there's a memory of Mom wrapping Christmas presents. This was even before cellophane tape, when we used gummed stickers that had to be licked and sometimes tasted pretty darned yucky. Anyway, Mom and Grandma always used crinkle ribbon to tie around the packages, and to this day the sound of that ribbon being pulled across a scissors conjurs pictures of bubble lights and tinsel.
And every now and then Mom would call me over to that table where she was festooned with bits of stray ribbon and colorful paper; she'd say that she needed my help, and I'd stand on tiptoe and hold on with one hand while reaching up with the other to put my finger on a ribbon, holding it in place while she finished the bow. Nowadays we still use that crinkle ribbon. And even though we're all grown up (and then some!) we still reach across the table when a helping digit is required. Sometimes it makes all the difference.
Personally, I think it's sad that John Boehner's mother never taught him the appropriate use of a single finger.
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