The Histories of Small Things

The house Mom grew up in is empty now. It has been for awhile, but now it's an emptier empty. The floral couch and the cans of peas and the photos of us from middle school sat for several months after Grandpa went into assisted living. The cat, shy and gorgeous with cinnamon-swirled fur, was rehomed to a family with three kids who are gentle with him, thank God.

Mom and Lori have spent the last several weeks digging through photos of people they never met and posting unwanted coatracks and chairs on Facebook. They wonder if Grandma was kind of a hoarder. Every birthday card and receipt for lumber and free notepad from the farmer co-op has been kept. The deep freezer is a pit of untapped gluttony. "Do you want five boxes of M&M ice cream bars?" Mom asks me.

They set mouse traps. One day they walk in to see one mouse eating another, starving and stuck in the glue. Lori finds a half-mummified snake in the dryer. The quiet violence of the country. I tell Mom please don't use glue traps for the mice.

Mom invites us one weekend to comb through the house and take whatever we want as long as nobody else wants it. I feel like a thief, but not quite. A scavenger, an interloper. But I slept on the pullout couch in the office as a kid. I threw paper airplanes down the hallway and let the barn cats inside as long as Grandma would allow and looked for plastic Easter eggs in the peach tree. I helped make Christmas candy in the kitchen, stirring the fudgy and stubborn filling in shifts with the other women.

My sister and I have a decent pile of things set aside within an hour. Mostly knickknacks, kitchen tools, a few books. I put sticky notes on things Mom isn't sure are claimed—the office lamp, the bookcase, the globe I'd spin and put my finger on to see where I'd live one day. Usually it was China.

This is what we kept:

Kitchen

Coffee Mugs

Here are the coffee mugs I drank hot chocolate out of growing up:

These make me think of the 10 p.m. local news, Grandpa snoring in his recliner, and very tiny marshmallows. I wish I knew how old they were and where my grandparents got them.

Happy Holiday Tin

This is the tin that sat on Grandma's kitchen counter all winter, every winter:

It makes me think of toffee brittle, church, and a half-empty cup of fruit punch with cherry chunks floating in it. I wish I knew how old it was and where my grandparents got it.

Salt Container

This is the salt container that sat on top of the fridge my whole life:

It makes me think of vanilla ice cream, the smell of half-washed dishes, and cream soda. We found a thank-you note from an old friend in it. The handwriting was difficult, but I think it was for my grandparents giving her $20. I wish I knew how old the container was and where my grandparents got it.

Coffee, Flour, and Sugar Container

This is the hand-painted container that sat in the very corner of the kitchen counter:

It makes me think of everything I mentioned above. I found out it was a wedding gift for my grandparents, so it's at least from the mid 1960s. When Mom handed it to me there was still flour, sugar, and coffee grounds in each section. They'd been in there long enough to stick to the bottom.

Living Room and Office

Bookcase

This is the bookcase that sat in the corner of the guest bedroom:

It makes me think of mauve bedsheets and the Bible. It used to be full of books—none newer than 2009—like Max Lucado devotionals and George W. Bush's autobiography. Now my sister and I have made it our own. I wish I knew how old it was and where my grandparents got it.

Painting

This is the painting that hung above the couch in the front room:

It makes me think of Christmas wrapping paper and a carpet so plush you can fall asleep right on the floor. Luckily it's signed and dated—a 1996 original by Al Federico, a New Orleans artist who passed away last year.

There was a time once, vague and rarely cited in family conversations, when my grandparents traveled a lot. I'm not sure what "a lot" means, or where all they went, or if this was before they had kids. If romance and adventure were involved. My family is all so unexcitable, so mild-mannered and Midwestern, it's hard to imagine my grandparents even crossing state lines. So I asked Mom if Grandpa and Grandma had ever been to New Orleans. She said she didn't know.

Floral Lamp

This is the floral lamp that sat in the front room by the windows:

It reminds me of Christmas wrapping paper, brushing elbows at the dinner table on Thanksgiving, and pretending to pray.

You probably know what I'm going to say next.