As we reminisced (often hilarious) memories while closing Grandma’s turn-of-the-century home, we found many priceless treasures. The grandchildren were jubilant when upon finding a coffee can full of quarters on a closet floor their Great Grandmother told them to divide the booty amongst themselves (greedy buggers that they were). One sister lugged home a massive, broken concrete bird bath. The other, carefully wrapped a small child’s rope chair that my Grandmother and her siblings had sat in as children. I wanted the windows from the top of the carriage garage.
Yard overgrown, we found the shallow indent where the pool had once stood. I like to think of “Green Onions” playing in the background as we rode our “banana seat” bikes to swim at Grandma’s during those 1970s summers.
Lazing about on the hammock, eating brown paper bag lunches. Grandma’s constant directive to “Hang that beach towel on the line.” Sunburned noses. Barbie’s(r), and cardboard box homes. The tire swing under the massive oak. What a blast!
The other day, as I was valiantly (yet not succeeding) to clean out the garage, I came upon a ratty old cloth sack. At that “just toss it all out” stage; something held me back. Instead, I carefully peeled it open – – hoping nothing live was inside. What a smile I had. A worn, handmade sack full of rocks and a note written in my Grandmother’s hand:
“Rocks from Alaska gold mine – ??? – 1945-46-47
given to me by the owner I forgot the name
I carefully washed the sack. Dusted off the “gold.” Shared with my mom.