Tuesday, May 4, 2010

Junk Drawer

It was the junk drawer. Small bits and pieces that had no home found their way to the junk drawer. The drawer resided in the old desk in the upstairs playroom. From the time I was a child the drawer called to me revealing its treasures, revealing that nothing had changed.

In going through the house after Mother died, we found treasures from our past. Each closet, each drawer revealed memories. Memories that three daughters who when together relieve them over and over again finding even more pieces of the past.

I was asking my sisters what they played during the time when June had rheumatic fever. She was in bed for two years before a cure was discovered. Two sisters whose play was confined to a bedroom.

“We had hanging dolls hooked across the bed. Remember, June?” Peg asked.

“What?” This was new to me.

“You don’t remember the little paper dolls? Their little hands hung on to a string. We would spin them,” Peg replied.

I was a baby during this time. I was not part of their toys or their young memories. I felt left out, but wanted so much to know about this part of my sisters.

“Remember the penguin that walked down the dough board?” Memories.

Old toys from the farm made their way to various parts of the US. Peg’s old dolls sit in her doll bed in Virginia. June’s puppet from Aunt Bess gave hangs in her spare room in Indiana.

The old drawer was one of the places I cherished revisiting when we came to the playroom. A small glass chicken, the old card game Authors, small bits of this and that, things of no worth other than memories came to Oregon to reside in an old cardboard apple basket in my living room. Not a junk drawer, but a place my grandchildren go to find treasure from a grandmother’s past.

Sometimes a drawer of bits and pieces can be a family history, memories of little girls who often peeked into it to see if anything new had been added and finding at the end it was still the same.

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