Notes from the Past

Even though Emily's in college, I still enjoy the misspelled-early chicken-scratch handwriting I saved and taped in various spots around the house. We have a clothes-shoot in the laundry room where years ago I placed an "I luve yoo Mommy" message on the inside of the little metal door. Nothing takes the edge off the heinous task of doing laundry than seeing that memory smiling back at me. I draw encouragement when I'm about to make cookies when I see Mom's confident loops and even lines on the recipe card. And when I face possible electrocution before jump starting my car battery, I can easily consult the correct page in the vehicle's manual with the decades-old-homemade-birthday card my dad made that I've left in there as a bookmark. I'm comforted by my Dad characteristic last line, "I loved you first" written in his nearly illegible cursive handwriting.

Sleeping in the Closet

When our daughter Emily was little, she asked if she could sleep in her closet. My first impulse was to say NO, but I stopped myself and asked, "Why not?" I cut a foam pad to lay in the bottom. I scooted everything down to the other end and made a place for her little legs down that blind alley where nothing can be stored conveniently anyway. I called the fire department because after 2 months of this my dad said he was nervous about what would happen if there were a fire. The fireman on the phone said that no fireman worth his salt would ever leave a room without looking in the closet and that sleeping on the floor actually gave her protection and extra minutes from smoke inhalation. I insisted that during night-time hours the sliding door needed to remain open and she had no problem with that. Emily lived in her cozy little closet for about 6 months before making the move back to her bed.