Recently my parents gave me a new carry-on sized travel suitcase. My old one had made many trips in almost thirty years of hard use and was literally falling apart. I'm thrilled with the new one, it was a lovely, big surprise! I found this, tucked in the outer pocket. A pretty batiste handkerchief with a knot tied firmly in one corner. I knew immediately what it was, it transported me in time. Suddenly I was very young again, in the basement classroom of our church's parsonage where the preschool aged Sunday School class was held. There were two large, round tables with pint sized chairs arranged around one; the second table had a single chair sitting in the center, situated up on top. That seat was reserved as the "naughty" chair. If we talked out of turn or acted up we were hoisted up into that elevated chair to serve as an example of how not to behave! I remember our white haired teacher, a crabby little old lady who I believed back then, and still do today, was someone who didn't like children; she and her husband never had any of their own. Let's just say I served my time in an elevated position more than once in those days. It's funny the things that one remembers. The naughty chair and the flannel board with the cut out Bible characters are still vivid memories from that basement classroom space. So, back to that handkerchief: my mother would tie my Sunday School offering into the corner and tuck that hankie into my pint-sized purse so it wouldn't get lost. Mrs. Cranky-pants would help me to untie it so that I could put it into the offering basket when it was time.
All those memories that stand apart in time and space, triggered by these two sweet and simple items. Years later, I remember my mother coming to me after receiving a telephone call and asking if I'd like to join the local Girl Scout troop in my hometown. The leader was none other than that same Sunday School teacher. I declined. And, many more years after that, when I was a young married woman, while visiting my parents we attended the annual Topsfield Fair at the local fairgrounds near my hometown; I was drawn to the quilts hanging on display and, may(!) have gotten too close to one. I was reprimanded, loudly, by the quiltmaker! Guess who that was? Yes, Mrs. Cranky-pants herself! She recognized me then and went on to talk about her memories of me when I was a little girl. She didn't mention the naughty chair and I, certainly, didn't bring it up! When I thanked my mother for the bag she asked me if I found the little "surprise" inside, I assured her that I did, and that I remembered. There was a LOT more than twenty five cents tied up in that handkerchief, Mom has absolutely no idea! 😉
Life is Good!
