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And today you took me back to my grandma's musty basement in Denver, to the old canned-goods cabinet at the foot of the stairs, next to the wringer-washer...LOL!
No dirt floor, but Grandma was FAR from the world's best housekeeper, so it was plenty dirty...LOL! And the basement had flooded before my time, so it was always an olefactory adventure. Especially when the washer overflowed, which it always did. Grandma didn't believe in having light bulbs bigger than 15 watts, so the basement was always full of creepy shadows. It had a few of those typical useless little ground-level windows, which were always grimy and covered with daddy-long-legs webs. It was furnished with stuff Grandpa brought home from his job on the back of the trash truck ("Just tell people he works for the city!" my mom used to say), stacks of ancient National Geographics, and things from their previous lives---before the family fell on hard times---which they hadn't been able to sell. It was cool and dark in the summer when it was over 100 in the shade, and chock-a-block with interesting things that little girls weren't supposed to get into, but which I couldn't wait to explore! There was one sort of nice room with glass-fronted bookcases (which I would kill for today) that contained full sets of Dickens and Shakespeare and Carl Sandburg. The recliner and lamp in that corner were indications this was probably where Grandpa fled when he needed a refuge from whatever was going on upstairs...
My grandma was a wonderful cook and gardener, and always made the best canned peaches, cherries, rhubarb and green beans from the trees and garden in her tiny city yard. Guess that's how I come by it, because there sure wasn't anyone else in the family I knew who ever liked diggin' in the dirt or foolin' around with plants!
Thanks again for dredging up more childhood memories, Sharran----our backgrounds probably couldn't have been much more diverse, but there are still a lot of common threads!
