The Drawer
It was a rainy day. But it was a "Meema Day"
so the weather didn't matter so much. Hayes, Olivia and I had things
to do. After we baked cookies, Hayes asked timidly, (as if he had
ever had a request turned down by me) "Meema, can we make a
tent?" What a great idea! They rearranged the living room while
I pulled out sheets. Soon one tent grew into a colony and while
I finished cleaning the kitchen, the architect and his sister fine
tuned the fabric city emerging in my house.
And then Hayes asked, "Meema, can we make a van
out of your chairs?" His sweet face all sweaty from heavy labor,
hazel eyes sparkling with youthful energy and creativity. It didn't
take long for six dining room chairs to assume position, three rows
of two. And then Hayes had one more question.
"Meema, we need a key for our van. Do you have
an old key or something?" Oh those eyes, looking up at me.
Inspired, I knew right where to look. The drawer.
Everyone has one. We all know this. It's the drawer
somewhere in the kitchen that has everything in it that can't be
put somewhere else because there is no real category for it.
I opened it carefully because it hadn't been cleaned
out for a while and things were prone to spring out as if propelled.
I removed the top two layers which were primarily coupons pre 1994,
flyers from entrepreneurs wanting to clean my gutters and deliver
wood, odd photographs, sales receipts, owners manuals for appliances
I don't have anymore, and a lengthy newspaper article the importance
of which had been long forgotten. I stopped to examine a phone number
scribbled on an envelope. Was this important? Should I save this?
Would I ever dial this number not knowing who owned it? I decided
to save it and continued the dig with the expertise of a seasoned
archeologist. With the paper layers removed the hardware layer was
revealed. Nuts and bolts, pennies, single earrings (I know I'll
come across the mates someday), allen wrenches that only fit some
item, probably sold at a garage sale years ago. Lip balm (that's
where that was), a pair of rusty tweezers (oh yeah, like I'd really
use those again), Summer Olympic medallions of chocolate. (Hide
that, Hayes is watching).
And Hayes was indeed watching.
As I pulled out more bits and pieces, his wonderful
eyes widened. And then he said with reverence and awe, "Meema,
it's like a magic drawer, isn't it?" I looked again at the
growing pile of useless junk but with a new vision - one with a
five year old's insight. It was marvelous. Tiny treasures, all with
endless potential, though many without definition. Also there were
two keys and believe it or not, two key holders, one red and rubbery
like gummy worms and one rich looking with the crest of a car maker
on a leather fob. The dig was a success. Hayes and Olivia played
for two hours in their make believe world, taking turns being driver
and passenger of "the van". I took advantage of the moment
to clean out the drawer. There was no way I would have been able
to get it all back in anyway. I believe this phenomenon is covered
by a law of physics.
It was hard. Oh, I didn't have much trouble throwing
out the expired coupons and flyers, and petrified cough lozenges,
but what about that strange looking screw? What if I needed just
that screw to repair something major, like the refrigerator? If
I threw it away, you know I'd need it precisely on the day after
the garbage had been picked up.
You see, the logic involved here is actually a form
of the misguided reasoning of a pack rat. A more objective person
would have asked the question, "What appliance isn't working
because this screw is in this drawer?" But it doesn't matter,
I saved the screw. With all those papers removed, there was infinite
room. Room to toss in more stuff. It won't take long to fill it
up again since we are a nation of stuff buyers and I am queen stuff
buyer. But that's okay with Hayes and Olivia because the result
of this is - Meema has a magic drawer that always produces exactly
what they need.
All Olivia has to do is get Hayes to ask.
