Hands Unfit to Hold
At one time, there were baskets all over their Manhattan apartment. They had perched on countertops, windowsills, toilets, side tables. Most had been smashed against walls or Jenna, acting as a barrier between Stanley’s hands. He never understood her fascination with baskets, which are essentially expensive, wooden buckets. She worked tirelessly to weave intricate patterns in an attempt to surpass the “low and simple standards of the Longaberger monopoly.” She was confused about her inability to sell her own baskets, which compromised aesthetic features for complicated weave work. People only wished to buy the silver plate nailed to the front that read “monopoly” between the lines, she said.
When they argued, Stanley would snatch the nearest basket and hurl it in any direction that guaranteed its destruction. He enjoyed robbing her of something, erasing her wasted effort on things no one would ever appreciate. The tears that fell when a basket was smashed mocked the sweat that was spent making it. All those baskets did was consume her energy and generate nothing.