The Powder Box

The powder box was not overly ornate. In fact, at first glance, it appeared quite ordinary. It was rectangular in shape, and comprised of a semi-white hard plastic. The four corners on the bottom of the box were footed, and a flower bouquet design was etched on the lid.  The box occupied space on a table that sat at the foot of my grandmother's bed, next to a couple of books and what else, I don't recall. As a kid, I noticed it for several reasons. One, I loved to read, so each time I visited my grandmother, I saw it as I grabbed the two aforementioned books. Two, it was the only luxury item I remember seeing in a house whose contents were comprised of mismatched furniture, an old wood burning stove, and an overabundance of plants. And three, the powder wasn't overly fragrant, but it did smell like my grandmother, or maybe my grandmother smelled like it. Either way, the fragrance was reminiscent of summer vacations spent with my grandparents, playing outside all day until darkness sneaked in and slowly blotted out the daylight, running barefoot and stubbing my big toe on the front porch steps (again!), and staying up late with my sister in order to infiltrate my grandmother's snack cabinet for crumbly cheese crackers and tiny chocolate candies.

As summer vacations and weekend visits came to an end, so too did the powder. The box, however, remained behind and became a repository for old buttons, an unpaired stocking garter, and other trinkets my grandmother kept inside. And while I remember her owning subsequent powder boxes, I couldn't tell you what they looked like, or where they ended up after the powder was gone.

The powder box, quite ordinary in appearance, is now aged and worn, with a faded flower bouquet design on the cracked lid. It occupies space on the chest of drawers in my bedroom and holds a class ring, several sets of earrings, and other baubles that I can't currently recall. But each time I open the box, I am reminded of my grandmother, and how much she meant to me. For you see, I too am a repository, void of powder but still slightly fragrant. And grateful, always grateful, for all of the time and effort she deposited into me.