The thing about my childhood home was that even though it
was small—with every closet and cupboard packed—to a child there was a potential
for the discovery of unexpected treasures.
I remember the pantry, long and deep, with a wall of upper
cabinets and huge heavy bottom drawers I could hardly joggle back into place.
Nevertheless, I loved to explore and organize the shelves. I marveled over the ruby-colored
dessert cups that caught shafts of light and the stacks of Grandma’s green
embossed dishes crammed alongside rougher items like waffle irons, hammers and a
gun or two lodged up against the water heater in the far corner.
Why did no one care that these treasures were relegated to
such an ignominious fate? Hidden away. Unused. Unappreciated.
I think it was the discovery of my sister’s coconut that shed
some light on the matter for me.
