Worry Beads

I bought three strands of worry beads in Greece, one each for the administrative assistants who help me in untold ways at work. When I took the beads out of my luggage to show my parents and Charlie last weekend, Charlie----eyes wide---reached for the strands of olive and reddish-brown beads, and was soon swinging them about and running his long fingers over and over their smooth surfaces. A third strand, in a brilliant translucent blue, with a tassel and a few eye beads intermixed with the blue, was left on the carpet---somehow the neutral colors appealed to Charlie, who's previously been drawn mostly to blue, green, and bright colors.

The beads are readily findable at most every souvenir stand in Athens and in the other places in Greece we visited. Charlie liked his beads so much, last night he placed them in the prized position beside the pillow on his bed. The two worry bead strands snaked around each other, close to Charlie's head.

Worry beads--- they're just the right size to hold in one's palm. Too big for a bracelet, they can be slung around the wrist. They seem to provide just the right amount of sensory reinforcement: There's a coolness to the beads, and it's very pleasant (as I've been discovering) to roll the beads around in your palm. Some beads are round, some oval with subtle notches. Rolling them around in one's palm is a different motion than squeezing a stress or squishy ball, both of which Charlie's had many of. And they're not too large to be too much to carry, and not too small so that, if misplaced, they elude detection in the crack of the couch cushions or behind a bookshelf.

If only I'd bought a dozen or so strands of beads. I should have realized they'd be a fitting gift for Charlie, in more ways than one.