My father’s infatuation with spools, levers, cranks and switches continued to grow with the size of his family. One unforgettable anniversary, he bought my mother a spaghetti-making machine as a token of his love. It had a shining chrome finish and beautiful, evenly spaced, slim, vertical blades. It looked like a small Las Vegas, slot machine, but without the slots.

Personally, I have no problem understanding why my father found this machine irresistible. The mere cause and effect of putting a wad of dough into one end and watching thin strips of pasta coming out of the other could compel the interest of even the least mechanically inclined.

But I could also understand my mother’s antipathy to it. A spaghetti-making machine is not a romantic gift. Standing over a manually operated mechanism that manufactures a food product in which one has absolutely no interest does nothing to inspire rhapsodies of ardor.

The spaghetti machine disappeared.

In time, it was replaced by an absolutely fabulous engraving tool. This was a variation on a theme of Thomas Jefferson’s invention for making duplicates of his correspondence in the days before carbon copies existed. It consisted of a metal platform from which two robot-like arms extended. Each arm held an engraving tool. Vises, rulers, and finger-like prongs were also components of this machine. Its purpose was to etch names, symbols, quotations or messages onto the metal surfaces of jewelry boxes, plaques, I.D. bracelets and lockets.