From the Heart
A surprising find keeps her grandmother close to her heart.
Her new lazy Susan spins many memories.
ome of the sweetest memories I have are of the summers that I spent with my parents and brother at my grandparents’ house in Marion, Massachusetts. We lived in Queens, New York, until I was about 11 years old, so those summers at Nana and Papa’s house were as close to being a country kid as I got.
Their house, a black-andwhite Cape Cod cottage, was magical. My brother and I slept in the twin room, named for the two twin beds side by side under the sloping ceiling. Outside, my grandfather’s massive gardens waited for us.
On the property, which was close to an acre in size, strawberry, raspberry and blackberry bushes were ready for us to get our pails. Four cousins lived nearby and we had room to roam, playing outside in the hot New England sun for hours. But my favorite time of the day was when my grandmother called us all in for dinner.
As my grandmother fried up her famous chicken, I would sit at that aluminum kitchen table with the matching vinyl upholstered chairs or, if a cousin hadn’t called dibs on it already, in the old wooden rocking chair beside the small wicker table that held my grandfather’s radio.
More than the delicious food on the table, I loved the little white lazy Susan perched in the center of the table. It seemed like there were so many goodies on
Sthat spinning wonder—napkins, salt and pepper shakers, a sugar bowl, a syrup dispenser, creamer and tea bags. I hadn’t thought about that lazy Susan for years, until one day when my daughter and I decided to pass a dreary afternoon wandering through our local discount warehouse store.
My heart nearly skipped a beat when I spotted one on a shelf beside a hodgepodge of kitchen accessories. I picked it up and a flood of memories rushed me. I told my daughter how it reminded me of the one that belonged to my grandmother, the great-grandmother she never got to meet. I put it down and we continued wandering the aisles, but I couldn’t put it out of my head.
As I get older, little things like this bring back dormant memories. Months before, I had been looking through a catalog and spotted a set of aluminum tumblers exactly like the ones my grandmother had. Everything tasted colder and better in those tumblers. I never ordered them, and I regretted throwing away that catalog. After walking the whole store, I told my daughter I wanted to look at that lazy
Susan one more time.
“Buy it. It’s the only one left and you like it,” she said as I held it in both hands, reliving those times at my grandmother’s kitchen table.
The price sticker on the shelf’s edge read $5. What a great deal for something that not only had a purpose but also made me smile. I took my find to the register, and $10 popped up on the screen. My lazy Susan must have been in the wrong spot on the shelf. I glanced at my daughter.
“You’re not going to let an extra $5 stop you from buying it, are you?” she asked.
No, I wasn’t, I decided. This wasn’t about buying an item. It was about the memories it awakened, which are priceless.
As I handed the cashier my money, I could feel the dreary mood I’d been in lift.
Just like the lazy Susan at my grandmother’s, mine is now in the center of my table. I tried to re-create the one from her kitchen the best I could. I have napkins, salt and pepper shakers, tea bags, sugar and a honey bear on it. Every time I walk into the kitchen and look at it, I smile and think of my grandmother.
It’s as close to having her with me as I can get.