Ganna's Purse

I am standing in the middle of my grandmother's closet staring at a row of purses in varying shades of blue, rose, white and black. Each one matches several pairs of equally varied shoes placed in twos in the shoe holder hanging on the closet door. The dresses hang behind me blending their colors with their matching counterparts, the shoes, and the purses. And the moth-balled must of her old closet comforts me as I free my favorite of all her purses, the tapestry blue, from its wall hook home.

It is not my favorite because of its colors or even because it was one of her favorites. It has always been my favorite because it is so big and typically so full of the things she felt were important to carry with her. She kept some of these items in all her purses, I suppose to be flexible with her last-minute wardrobe decisions, just in case she thought that the rose-colored floral dress and rose purse and shoes would suit her day's plans better than her old standby the slate blue dress with the blue shoes and tapestry blue purse. So, she kept similar items in all of them. There was always one half of one stick of Wrigley's gum, sometimes fruit, more often one of the mints. And, some of those pieces were old-timers in those purses, but were always handy in case you needed to exercise your jaw muscles or punish your taste buds. And, she always had a box of antacid gum, usually Chooz. As a child, I never knew why. Now, I do. I carry them too. She typically had a pack of saltine crackers that she had saved from her vegetable plate at the local cafeteria. These served a dual purpose. If you got hungry, they are an instant snack. If you had to take a pill for some reason, you had a way to swallow it. Pure genius in a plastic wrapper. She usually had some coins, a lot of expired coupons, some pens and various purse waste like rubber bands, paper clips, hair pins and fuzz balls. There was always a pen and bits of scribbled on paper where she had made notes to herself. These were interesting to read because they were not always phone numbers or things to do or instructions, but she sometimes wrote down or cut out little inspirational sayings. I always thought that she might treat her purse as some kind of overgrown fortune cookie, because no matter what piece of paper was in there, if she scooped it out in an effort to find something else, it always made her stop, think, and probably smile a little.

Sitting on the edge of her bed, I hold the purse, just briefly, in my arms. The afternoon sun splashes through the window onto my back and warms me. Suddenly, I am seven and she is beside me as we "clean out her purses," which really just meant removing the fuzz balls and putting everything back in a little more neatly. But that did not matter to me, because she always shared her purse cleanings with me, and I delighted in the idea of some forgotten treasure that we could find, laugh about and marvel over.

All of thirty again, I hear my grandfather shuffle into the bedroom. He is carrying a large paper sack.

"You go through anything you want to, Sugar," he said. "And take whatever you want. She would have wanted that."

I smiled and kissed my granddaddy's sun-worn cheek and watched him wander back to "his chair" in the living room. He seems lost and peaceful at the same time.

I take a deep breath and begin my treasure hunt. Two-year-old coupons, one dollar and twenty-five cents in change, Chooz, Wrigley's, three packs of crackers, an AARP card, a publisher's clearing house sweepstakes entry, some tissues, one bobby pin and a pair of earrings that match the purse are among the inventory. There is also a small spiral notepad with a kitten on the front and a tiny pink pen. The notepad is blank. And the pen does not work. I put all of this in my paper bag.

As I am looking in the various zippered compartments for anything hidden, and therefore extremely valuable, I find a small picture of a young child, a pudgy little girl in an uncomfortable long, red, ruffly, granny dress, who, despite her tooth missing and her obvious discomfort is grinning broadly. And I think that this little girl who has spent most of her life feeling ugly, fat, and uncomfortable probably has no idea how beautiful and special she is.

My grandmother obviously knew it, because it was important enough for her to keep my second-grade picture in her favorite purse so that she could run across it, stop, think, and smile. I marvel at this treasure and hold it close to me as the afternoon sun and my grandmother holds me.