The dressing room…

I can remember opening the door without permission.

My right hand would swat the air softly searching for the string.

When you felt it, you pressed down slowly, held your breath and hoped Granny didn’t hear the click or see the light come on.

Otherwise, “Cheryl Acker…” and her Indiana Jones adventure was over.

For most of my life, my view was only from the doorway because I would not behave.

And she was right, I would not have.

There was a hairpiece and rows of scarves to the left.

To the right were racks of clothes squeezed in tightly.

But if there was a treasure map, straight ahead would be where X marks the spot.

As she would say-“Pocketbooks, brooches and earbobs” were all in their place.

Rows of white boxes filled with thin cotton and treasure.

I strain to remember their contents. My mind thinks there was a fox and maybe an owl or both with enamel and rhinestones.

I know there were many clip-on earrings, but how many I am not sure because there were even more strict instructions of “Do not touch”.

As I grew older, I was lucky enough to be handed a pair of vanity fair pajamas from that same closet.

She would be putting on her face cream and she would giggle at her reflection.  I can still smell the Avon rich moisture when I close my eyes.

Something about that all felt like such a luxury and I don’t think I could ever feel so rich these days.

I know that my greatest wealth today is in my memories, not possessions.

I was at the thrift store earlier today and the display case held a pair of earrings that I just knew would have belonged in her closet.

I smile now because I am wearing them as I type.

Thank you for donating whoever you are.

I just used them for time travel.

And I stayed in the closet, as long as my heart would let me.

That’s all of my thoughts for today, my vision is a little blurry.

Big hugs to all of you who know about the forbidden…

She really didn’t have much, but what she had she appreciated.

Trying to remember that myself and quietly enjoying my collection,

Cheryl Suzette