A small tan and brown change purse sits on my desk,
It belonged to my grandmother.
A faint though flickers through my mind, how old is it, after all she’s been gone for twenty six years.
I own a change purse of indeterminate age?
It’s bright red inside,
That makes me smile, it’s so drab and plain on the outside, yet it’s like a bright Swedish fish inside
That makes me smile again, I love Swedish fish. My mind wanders a bit…
When did I last have Swedish fish? Hum…more ponders.
Inside the change purse, there are many small crochet hooks. Put there by my grandmother.
The kind of crochet hooks that you make doilies with.
Doilies…what a long past concept now….handmade lace decoration.
Does anyone crochet doilies anymore?
Other than older people ?
More pondering about the fact that I am so much older then I think I am now.
So much time lost.
I count the hooks, fifteen in all. Why fifteen I wonder?
Four of them are plastic, probably Bakelite.
I like Bakelite, buttons, jewelry, interesting small art deco handles.
One of the metal ones is a size five and has ten cents stamped right on it.
Did she buy it?
Was it at the 5 and dime at the shore?
I loved that store as a child.
I loved her.
I wonder about the hooks, were they all hers?
Did some belong to her mother?
Questions that I will never know the answers to.
So many small moments lost,
Questions that can’t be asked,
Questions to that go unanswered.
More pondering and a little melancholy.
I miss her.
-copyright Lorri McColgan
may not copy or reproduce without express permission of author