Beech Tree News Network

In the basement of the house where my husband, Garey, grew up, there is an old refrigerator that his mom, Aggie, calls the “ice box.”  It’s not really an ice box in the manner of the first refrigerators that used actual blocks of ice in order to keep the content in the box cool.  No, this is a refrigerator, albeit one of the first models.  On the front of the “ice box” is a Little Henry magnet.  Little Henry (also known simply as Henry) was a comic strip character created in 1932 by Carl Thomas Anderson.  The comic ran in syndication for 84 years until he was retired in October of 2018 (en.m.wikipedia.org).  I mention the Little Henry magnet because it is one of Garey’s favorite mementos from his childhood.  Once, Aggie offered to give the magnet to him, but Garey said no.  The magnet belongs on the ice box.  That is where the memory of Henry lives.  He and the ice box are inextricably united, and let no man put them asunder.

                For years Aggie kept flour in a large Gordon’s Potato Chip jar.  In our early marriage, Aggie would dip flour from the jar and make biscuits for breakfast when we visited.  Garey’s dad, J.D., was still alive at the time.  A few years after J.D. passed, Aggie gave me the jar.  She no longer made biscuits for herself, and when we visited, she used the canned or frozen kind.  The jar sits on my counter, and it will always remind me of her, like the ice box and Little Henry remind Garey of his mom. 

                Before my dad passed away, he and my stepmom decided to downsize.  There is very little left from my growing-up years.  I understand why they did it.  Things get overwhelming as you age.  I feel it myself.  Sometimes, I look around our place and say to Garey, “We do not need to leave this mess for our children to clean up!”  He says, “I know,” then neither one of us does anything about it.

                When Aggie passes (she will be 92 in August), Garey and his sister, Charlotte, are going to have their hands full.  Aggie has every jar, flowerpot, magazine, tablecloth, set of pajamas and rusty piece of tin ever brought on to the place.  (Come to think of it, I’m both surprised and honored that she let go of that Gordon’s Potato Chip jar.) 

                Aggie isn’t a stupid person.  She has a will and her land holdings are securely divvied out between her children.  Her estate won’t go into probate.  It’s the sentimental things—the massive bulk of them—that will give her children grief.

                Case in point: Recently when we visited, I noticed Aggie had removed the nice tablecloth Charlotte bought for her on our visit before and replaced it with the old stained plastic one she has kept on her table for the last several years. 

                “I hate that tablecloth!” Charlotte said, as she walked into Aggie’s kitchen.

                “Inez gave me that tablecloth and I’m not getting rid of it,” Aggie said.

                Here is what you need to understand about this situation.  Inez was Aggie’s sister.  She passed away nearly 18 years ago.  For the first 10 years, the plastic Inez tablecloth resided in the chifforobe in Aggie’s bedroom, along with other items her sisters bought for her, things like pillowcases and gowns too nice for every-day wear.  About eight years ago, Aggie brought out the plastic Inez tablecloth and put it on her kitchen table, and there it has lived year-round, except for Thanksgiving and Christmas, when she puts the nice cloth ones on the table, which are covered with a clear piece of plastic, of course.

                I told my sister-in-law when Aggie passes, I will help her and Garey catalog items they want to sell.  When it comes to what they want to keep, they’re on their own.  I have my Gordon’s Potato Chip jar, that’s all I want.  Something tells me I’d better make room for the ice box and Little Henry.  I’m putting my foot down, though, if Garey wants that plastic tablecloth.