The Treasure Chest (1 of 3)
As I was cleaning up around the house recently, my eyes fell
on an old chest which had been our neighbor's cast off and had made the migration
west with us. There it sat, under cover of clothing and other assorted items: a
horizontal surface to hold the laundry; an inconspicuous fixture in the room. I knew what it held. But I hadn’t thought about it for a while, so I took
a moment to crack it open.
When you lift the lid of something this old, it has the very
distinct smell of old wood and faded, worn, textiles. It reminds me of the entry way in
the home we left to come to California. It had been built in the 1920’s and, when we bought it, we thought it was a mansion. You
entered the front door into a small vestibule decorated with a large patterned wallpaper in browns and greens. I could never bring myself to remove that wallpaper. It was a small reminder of the house's history; a nod to those who'd come before us.
The second door, which led to the rest of the house, would usually stay closed. The sun would shine through the glass panes of the front door and the vertical glass panels at its sides to warm that little space, filling it with the aroma of old wallpaper paste and paper.
The second door, which led to the rest of the house, would usually stay closed. The sun would shine through the glass panes of the front door and the vertical glass panels at its sides to warm that little space, filling it with the aroma of old wallpaper paste and paper.
And
that would always remind me of my grandparent’s home.
Comments
Post a Comment