Objects

When my great Aunt Sarah spilled the contents of her valise on the table, I gasped. Amongst the interesting assortment of hats, and odd pieces of jewelry, and seashells, and old maps from unknown places, were two items I recognized immediately – the Santa Claus shovel ornament from my Uncle Morris’ Christmas tree collection and the red oil can from my own father’s meticulously organized garage workshop.

My startled gasp turned to horror, though, when upon closer examination, I saw my grandfather’s “Certificate of Ritual Circumcision.”   I didn’t even know such a thing existed. But I did certainly know there was absolutely no reason why my Aunt Sarah, my mother’s older sister, should have possession of this unusual document.

How had Aunt Sarah ended up with these items?  And why was she sharing them with me now – as an elf might share his treasures, or a pickpocket his loot?

In hindsight, many things now seemed a bit odd from that day.

*********

Sarah had met me in the kitchen when I’d arrived home from school that strange Tuesday afternoon.  I’d walked the half-mile up the hill from the bus stop after it became obvious no one had remembered to pick me up. I’d been keen enough to stop at the bottom of our long driveway to pick up the mail, and then arrived at our front steps out of breath and a little confused as to why Mavis wasn’t outside barking for me.  One step inside the warmth of our over-sized kitchen, and I knew why.  Aunt Sarah was here.  Aunt Sarah was sitting at the table drinking Peppermint tea.  Mavis was sitting at her feet, big brown eyes staring with blind devotion.  They were buddies of the closest kind.  While even a moth could send Mavis into a fit of bloodthirsty desire, Aunt Sarah elicited licks and paw hugs and the boundless, loving enthusiasm only a mutt can display.

“Aunt Sarah!” I called out, running over to hug her. 

“Anabelle,” Aunt Sarah called back.  “We’ve been wondering when you’d get home.  Mavis said you were usually home by 4, but it’s 4:30 and I was starting to wonder.”

“But why are you here?  And how did you get here?  Where are mom and dad and Walt?  Are you staying?  Are you here to stay?”

Aunt Sarah had laughed at me. Her niece of the thousand questions.  Her Anabelle with the wandering mind.   

“We’ll have to see about that…”