I'll be seeing you in all the old, familiar places - sort of

Well, in my usual "hurry up and post" way, I missed linking to Amber and Re-dirt's posts yesterday...so they are here now. Sorry guys! How Wud!

Then I got "blogger's block". I was going to do more ghost stories but there are so many really good ones out there that I kinda froze up, I guess. I wrote about my haunts earlier in the year. It was a poem and you probably thought it was some far out reference to how bread has to rise and ghosts rise, lol, but it wasn't.

We burned out in '88. It was September when we got a new place up to move into. Grama died right around then. When people were all "I want the coin collection" and the like I was happy knowing I would have Grama's books and the bookcase my grampa built. We read and did word puzzles all the time and she always got me books or magazines for gifts. She was a Scrabble wizard!

For me, it's the thought, the sharing of an item that makes it special, not what it costs. So when all the toting away was done my sister and I were going to close out the apartment so the Mom and Uncles wouldn't have to deal with it. There was nothing else there anyone wanted. We were to box it up and take it to Mom's garage if we couldn't find homes for it.

This is where I really scored. I had nothing for my kitchen yet and all Grama's stuff was available. The cookie cutters I learned to make soft cookies with, the rolling pin and big mixer, the copper coated aluminum canaster set and matching bread box that had a top shelf in it where the cookies were always kept, the butter tray, relish dishes, sugar bowl and creamer of pressed glass, and her reciepe box and tons more!

All these things were items I had set her table with on holidays, learned to cook with, watched her use and raided (for cookies) since I was just little. I had dried and put away almost all the wine glasses. The aluminum glasses in the small size for kids were the ones we drank out of on regular visits, they wouldn't break but they made a heck of a racket when you dropped them on the tiles!

I had watched her cut pickles into perfect slices and put in the relish tray and then get the dainty bowl that matched and fill it with cranberry relish, carefully wiping the edge with a cloth before she handed it to me to take to the table. I couldn't believe none of her kids wanted them! Things she used everyday I am still using, and glad to have them, to teach my grands how to cook. They are trash on a scale of ten cents to a diamond but they are a comfort and legacy to me.

We got the apartment shut down between the two of us and hauled most of the stuff to Mom's till they decided what they wanted to do with it. Everyone was more than pleased to let me have the things my family needed. Along with the kitchen things there were some lamps and other little odds and ends, a round wooden jewelry box with some avon stuff in it, I still have most of it. And none of it ever acted strange except the bread box.

In Grama's kitchen the bread box sat on the counter near the stove and by the door to the breakfast nook. As I mentioned, the top shelf always had a package of store bought cookies tucked away in the dark and there was a loaf of fresh bread and maybe a package of opened crackers on the bottom. The latch on this is a round knob on one side that screws into a metal tang. To close it you turn the knob and the tang slides across the top edge of the door. There are no springs, latches or levers other than the plain tang. When it is closed the tang is upright. It doesn't list to the left or the right. When the screw loosened several years before Grama died the uncle tightened it and used a rubber band to make sure the tang stayed tightly against the top of the box.

But I hadn't had it two weeks when I was making dinner one night and the metal door flipped open, banging the knob on the counter and making a noise like a gong. I jumped about a mile!

I put down the soup can I was emptying, dusted my hands off and went over to see what the problem was. I checked the latch, it was fine, I checked where the knob screws in, it was ok, I checked for kittens, none in evidence - which meant nothing - but they were not counter crawlers usually as I did not allow cats on tables and counters. So I shrugged to myself, closed it back up and went back to adding milk to the can to measure for the soup. I poured the milk into the pan and stirred the soup so it wouldn't lump and gave the can a little tap on the rim of the pan to get the last bit out.

I went to throw the can away and "BANG!!!" The bread box door flew open again. I jumped, again. I hate loud sudden noises! Twice in five minutes was a little strange and I stopped to consider the situation.

Now my grama grew up in the depression. We won't talk about her sisters and her having to be split up because the family couldn't feed them and living with strangers and such but I will mention she always stretched everything as far as it would go. Aluminum foil was washed and dried then folded and put in a drawer for next time. Cans were scraped clean with a spatual, opened on both ends, rinsed out, the lid put flat inside and then smashed flat before they were thrown away, socks were mended, buttons put back on shirts and each tool she used, mixer, iron or lawn mower, was wiped down clean and put away correctly every time she used it. You didn't get new, you made do!

I stood there, alone in the kitchen, holding the stupid soup can in my hand and started to cry. I went over and got the spatula out, scraped every bit of soup and milk into the pan on the stove, wiped the blade of the spatula on the pan, went to the sink, rinsed out the can, tore off the label and put it in the burn bag and the can in the trash.

Then I went over and shut the bread box door and felt better.

It wasn't 3 days later and I was getting breakfast around on a Saturday. I let the refridgerator door hang open while I sat the milk down and went back for the butter. I had JUST set the milk down and "WHAANNGG!" The bread box door slapped open and I went up in the air about 9 feet and hollered, "WHAT!?"

Then I realized the fridge was still open, went back, got the butter tray out and shut the fridge, took the butter to the table, sat it down and went over to the bread box. I checked the hinges, the latch, the knob all the while knowing they were going to be fine.


You did not waste the cold of a fridge. When she was little it was a real ice box. A wooden box with a tin liner in the bottom where the ice went and a shelf with it's own door above it to keep the milk and such in and letting the cold out meant the ice wouldn't last till tomorrow. She must have told me a thousand times, "Don't stare at it, get something out or shut the door," when I would look for a snack at her place.

So I closed the bread box door again. Mom was over a couple weeks later and the door dropped open while we drank our coffee. So I told Mom her Mom said hello and then had to tell her the whole story. I like her, she doesn't laugh in my face!

It's not really a very scary story but she still sends me 9 feet in the air once in a while. But it's just grama and she never stayed mad long. And I try to do better with my recycling and leftovers and such. Right now she's probably cranky at me because I have a thermos in front of the bread box door and she can't fling it down at me when she wants to.

So BOO! and enjoy your weekend. I hope you sleep alright tonight.