Last night, I reached into a kitchen cabinet, the narrow one under our granite top counter, and ran my hands lightly over different containers. I was looking for the salt. Or, maybe I shouldn’t say I was looking for the salt. I was feeling for a familiar container. My fingers passed over an old box of saltines, several small cans of tuna, a cellophane wrapped package of bean threads, and various plastic containers that originally held deli purchases and now stored grains and whatnot.

I stopped when I touched a tall narrow cardboard canister. The general shape was what I was looking for – cylindrical – but no, I thought. This rounded box was too tall and narrow to be a Morton’s Salt container. I knew that when I felt the right shape, I would be able, sight unseen, to pull out the round blue box with the girl carrying the umbrella.

Ah, advertisers and marketing specialists have trained us well. Product packaging has become such a basic aspect of identifying a brand. Even some products themselves use shape to establish uniqueness. I know Dove soap is not like just any bar soap. It’s elliptical-shaped and curvy too. Tostitos come in scoop shaped chips so you can shovel dip onboard easily and Wendy’s hamburgers are square instead of round.

The shape of things is important. The shape of things is important when you’re trying to establish uniqueness or facilitate ease of use or if you’re trying to communicate strength, tradition, whimsy or other qualities. Don’t you have shape preferences for handles on tools? The backs of chairs or the heels of shoes? Why do bank buildings often have Roman style columns at their front doors? Why do people feel inspired when they see a bridge? And don’t get me started about pasta? I haven’t figured that out yet – why people choose some shapes over others.

After dinner, TV, and some computer time, I took my contemplation of shapes to bed with me. I continued to be amazed at how the shapes of things come into play in so many ways. I began to think about shapes not only as fundamentals of design but in terms of how they fill space. Different shapes inhabit the same space differently. And some shapes fit into other shapes better than others.

Hands in gloves, cups in saucers, windows in walls. Some shapes seem as if they were meant to fit into other shapes. Proportions have a lot to do with this, I suppose. But I think the shape itself matters too.

A series of objects flashed through my mind like pictures in an IKEA catalog; objects fitting into other objects. Chairs or tables or dishes nested perfectly into their similarly shaped taller brothers or sisters.

Then John joined me in bed. Lying on our sides, he held his chest against my back, legs behind my legs, as both our knees and hips were gently bent. Like the proverbial pair of spoons clinging to each other, with hardly a breath of air in between, he loosely draped his arm around my shoulders. In a few minutes, we both knew I would break the clinch, turn onto my belly and kick loose the sheets at the bottom of my side of the bed. My body seems to go into an old child’s pose to fall asleep.

For those few minutes, I felt so content that I fit into the space his embrace made for me.

Noticing the unique shape of things and flowing with the thought of a perfect fit is no small thing.