Reclaimed Memory

When we were at Sherry's recently, we noticed that she had a basket at the foot of the steps and it held the Christmas cards that they had received. After a period of intense activity, Sam crawled over to the basket and began "reading" the cards. He'd spend a surprisingly long time with many of the cards; others he'd discard almost immediately. Joe's theory was that this calm activity was a means of catching his breath before pressing on to terrorize the cat.

. . . .

Took me back in time to something I've not thought of in more than fifty years (ye gods, did I really write that?).

. . . .

Nana, my paternal grandmother, lived alone in a row house that was within walking distance of the house where I spent my first four years in the West Oak Lane section of Philadelphia. Despite the proximity, I don't remember being at her house on a regular basis. It was always more of an occasion to be there. When we moved outside of the city to Near Philadelphia, these visits were even more occasional, and before very long Nana gave up her house and moved in with Aunt Helen.

. . . .

The thing I remember best about going to Nana's is that down in her basement (but it was called the cellar), she had an actual sandbox. It was not very big and it was not fancy at all. It contained New Jersey beach sand, rather than the commercial kind of sand in most kiddy sandboxes. And there were discarded kitchen findings there -- measuring cups, spoons, sifters, those kinds of things. While the adults were visiting and getting a meal on the table, I was allowed to go down there to cook and bake. It was magical.

. . . .

The other thing, though, the newly reclaimed memory, is that somewhere in the living room, Nana had some kind of a box where she kept greeting cards that she had received. And now I remember very vividly that after dinner, I would be allowed to go and get that box out, and go through the cards. This was all before I could read, and it felt like such a special privilege to be able to do this. I just loved it.

. . . .

Our Christmas cards are in a basket in the living room still. Last week I put my birthday greetings in there, too. And somewhere in the closet is just the right box -- it is pale blue, and is made like a round hatbox with a ribbon -- it came from Elaine for a birthday about seven or eight years ago. It will be perfect for holding the cards for Sam's perusal when he comes to visit Nana.