*sigh* where to start with with Spirograph. There are a lot of deep and meaningful psychological scars involved in that name. Growing up in the 70's, oftentimes we'd have to make the long drive from the Boston area to Maplewood NJ, to visit my grandmother. The traits I remember of her, were the bitterness, negativity and chainsmoking, she was in her late 70's back then. Her house was completely sealed...no open windows, no airflow, and it was locked in a permanent embrace with WWII era appointments and decoration, tinged with nicotine and discontent.
Trips there were doubly exciting...long traffic filled car rides, holidays away from home, an oppressive physical and emotional destination. To entertain the Skies kids, she had two options. One was No.2 pencil with yellow legal pad for drawing. Perfect for the under 10 year old set. The other was a decrepit Spirograph, without all the gears, and without the colored pens. Each crank of the gears, another poorly inscribed geometric slash of pain and despair. Once we were old enough, the Skies kids would walk around the block for hours just to avoid that house, the yellow legal pad and the Spirograph from hell.
Ahh, Maplewood, at the intersection of Rt. 78 and sadness.