Wherever I go

I have always been a snoop.

I love eavesdropping, rifling through estate sales, and my all-time, most favorite, snooping activity was digging through my grandparents house. The Farm, as everyone still calls it, was full of good places to snoop when my grandparents were alive.

I can't remember when I caught the bug but I loved to dig through all the drawers of every chest or wardrobe or buffet in that farmhouse. My grandma never liked it, which I never understood. Now that I'm older, of course I get it. Who wants a sticky, grimy 10 year old picking through and disorganizing decades old photographs and antiques.

Discovering my mom's high school yearbooks, photographs of my great relatives visiting the Grand Canyon, delicate figurines that I knew had to have a special story . . . they were all treasures to me. Ones that maybe my grandma forgot about locked away in rooms with names like "The Northwest Closet", "The Sitting Room", or "The Spare Room".

But I'd remind her from time to time and ask "Grandma? What's this?". And sometimes, she'd amuse me by sharing stories or tidbits from where things came from.

Maybe it was her that told me the story of when my grandpa's great aunt died in her sleep and my grandpa's mom couldn't find a clean sheet to cover her with. So, in a dresser in a spare bedroom, wrapped in brown paper, was a bundle of white sheets with the note "Keep your damn hands off. In case of death only."

During one treasure hunt in particular, I dug around in the closet of my mom's old bedroom. The one she repeatedly listened to a record of Gladys Knight and the Pips "Midnight Train to Georgia" in.

On the side shelf of the closet, in a small white box, was something that I recognized upon opening. It was Addy's Ida Bean Doll from The American Girl collection. I assumed it was for me as I was an avid collector of American Dolls at this time. I carefully folded the tissue paper back around the doll and put the box back where I found it and waited for her to give it to me.

My visit to the Farm was almost over and I couldn't stand it anymore so I asked her: "Grandma, why do you have Addy's doll in my mom's closet? Is it for me?" And she was upset. Like I had been digging through her private things. (Which, I had been, obviously. Kids are so dense sometimes.) After the color of anger, or maybe it was embarrassment, drained from her face, she told me a story; one of herself as a little girl.

Her dad was going to the city on business and before he left, she told him what she wanted him to bring her. She wanted a black baby doll. And when he returned from wherever he was, he brought her that baby doll. And she told me how much she loved it.

That baby doll was long gone so she bought herself a new mini-doll and she stored it away in a closet because where else would she put it?

After the story was over, I put the bean doll back where I found her and that was that.

When I returned home from my trip and was unpacking my suitcase, I found that little white box among my clothes. I can't remember if there was a note or what it said, but I'm sure there was. My grandma put pink junior size legal pad notes on everything.

So, I've had the Ida bean doll since then. Most of the time, I put her in the corner of a bookshelf, sitting against the books; reminding me of my grandma, picturing her as a little girl with her favorite baby doll, and missing her.

One day, a few months ago, I found the Ida Bean Doll in my purse. I don't even remember putting her in there. I almost took her out because I didn't want her to get dirty or tear out her gold hoop earrings. But then, for some reason, I stopped.

In that moment, I didn't want to keep her on the shelf anymore.

So, she's still in there now; peaking out of a cozy interior side pocket that looks like it was made just for her.

And she rides alongside me wherever I go.