Recently I was called upon to assist with cleaning my daughter’s new house. I am really good at cleaning. So it was no surprise to find the vacuum cleaner in my hands upstairs taking down the cobwebs in the grandchildren’s rooms. I started out in my granddaughter’s closet. The task didn’t take total concentration so my mind wandered. And my thoughts went on an unexpected journey.
You see, most people would see this closet as a small space to store things. But I am the mother of three daughters and I know a thing or two about a girl’s closet. I could visualize it as her space to play with dolls or cuddle up and read a book. A prime spot to crawl underneath something to disappear in a game of hide and seek. A place to have a secret conversation with a friend. Sometimes those walls might hear her yelling or see her tears when she is sure her parents are out to permanently ruin her social life or friends turn out to be less then expected. Its corners will be filled with boxes of treasures, contents changing with the years, some of the mementos waiting many years for rediscovery. The rods will see hangers filled with twirly little girl skirts, then prom dresses, graduation gowns and perhaps one day a wedding dress. And at last the contents will disappear, because it is only right that she grow up and move on.
I hope I am around for as much of the real journey as possible. Because I sure enjoyed the imaginary one. And for every generation that empties a closet, there is always another generation getting ready to fill it. And there’s a grandmother coming out of a closet with a vacuum cleaner in her hand.
You see, most people would see this closet as a small space to store things. But I am the mother of three daughters and I know a thing or two about a girl’s closet. I could visualize it as her space to play with dolls or cuddle up and read a book. A prime spot to crawl underneath something to disappear in a game of hide and seek. A place to have a secret conversation with a friend. Sometimes those walls might hear her yelling or see her tears when she is sure her parents are out to permanently ruin her social life or friends turn out to be less then expected. Its corners will be filled with boxes of treasures, contents changing with the years, some of the mementos waiting many years for rediscovery. The rods will see hangers filled with twirly little girl skirts, then prom dresses, graduation gowns and perhaps one day a wedding dress. And at last the contents will disappear, because it is only right that she grow up and move on.
I hope I am around for as much of the real journey as possible. Because I sure enjoyed the imaginary one. And for every generation that empties a closet, there is always another generation getting ready to fill it. And there’s a grandmother coming out of a closet with a vacuum cleaner in her hand.
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