A dirty little bottle...

                    

"Another story...ho hum!"

                                                  =^..^=

It's becoming quite ordinary that, during our construction, we dig up a little something that came through the house fire of 1975.

This little perfume bottle was possibly my grandmother's; although it was not like her to fancy up with perfume or any other fragrant product. I like to think that she may have put a dab or two on just before Old Man Bulger picked her up for church on Sunday mornings. We, the grandkids, visiting over the summer holidays, would wave good-bye to them as they headed out the drive-way, the oldest of the bunch left to be in charge. Oh, good grief, I would have hated to be that poor cousin that was run ragged and given lip for the hour and a half gran was at church praying for our souls.
I was, thank God, one of the younger ones and never had the job of being left in charge.

The old ceiling-to-floor china cupboard along the wall in the summer kitchen held tea-cups, glasses and plates and was also home to the home-made hermit cookies that were stored in an old biscuit barrel. They were kept for when we deserved a treat which, basically, was never, in my opinion. lol

Gran was out the drive-way but a minute and the scrumptious cookies were devoured. Then we were off to goodness knows where; wherever the wind took us, knowing full well, we had that one hour and a half to do as we pleased. Cousin in charge would be yellin' and cursin', demanding we stay inside where she could keep an eye on us. "Just colour at the table." she'd say.  But, we'd head out and play in the out-buildings, the old coop or hang upside-down in the apple trees in the orchard. We'd try to lose someone in the hay field under the pretense of a 'hide & seek' game. We'd 'drop in' on neighbours, anger the rooster and see who could out-run him. We'd fight.
I guess it was all pretty innocent as no grandchild died.

I still remember the old black car that they drove in. Watching from atop the wire fence, first you would see the car amongst the dust on the road. Then it would disappear for a moment, only to re-appear again at the top of the hill just before they turned into the  driveway. We'd have time to all be sitting on the front porch like The Walton's, waving as they turned in between the lilac bushes. Cousin-in-charge would be inside, walking the floor, red-faced and ready to burst.

This dirty little bottle, whether it be my grans or not, opened a flood-gate of memories of those hot, summer Sundays spent with my cousins. I feel very lucky to have these wonder-full memories and now to have found a little treasure to cherish.

hugs, Deb