To tell you this story I have to start before the beginning.
My grandparents bought a farm house when they got married. They remodeled it and lived there till a few years before their deaths. Now my parents live there.
Now the beginning. When I was little, my grandparents babysat me when my mom took my older siblings to do whatever they did. In the bathroom sat a whicker hamper with a marbled green plastic lid. When I was very little I remember kneeling on it to wash my hands with grandma’s help. Later I noticed that it was a good stand for a newspaper (comics page!) or magazines (home decor?). I never knew what it actually was used for, or what might be in it, since we didn’t use hampers at home.
There it sat, under the towel bar, a constant through all my years of growing up. Even when my grandparents moved in to town, it went with them to sit stoically in their guest bathroom. It stayed in the same apparent good condition. Only a few weaves came out over time. Finally, after they passed away, it was thrown away while cleaning out the townhouse.
Now this all may seem mundane and a very slow story. But the part I find most interesting happened a few years later. We, my family, were cleaning the farm house. We found some old snap shots; one of them was of my father. He was only a boy, maybe two or three years old. He sat, solemn faced, dressed in Sunday best… On the green wicker hamper in the bathroom.
This is a testament to how carefully my grandma took care of her home.