While I was busy cleaning in a senior's suite, I had to move a small cardboard box. I gave it a good look and realized what I held. The toy box: a few toys and a soft, huggable doll. The books I enjoy often refer to an attic or unused nursery that still had a trunk full of abandoned toys. Often there was a solitary rocking horse with wispy mane and tail, faded paint and glassy stare. In my mind's eye I tiptoe in, lift the lid of that dusty trunk and let it fall with a thud. What might be inside? A box of children's books, a tin of fingerpaints, costumes? Most grandmas have a small box of toys or a special shelf. My grandma had such a box. I remember a Slinky and a stack of large wooden spools that we used to build walls and fortresses. There were several shaped logs for interlocking building blocks, and a couple of bowlegged cowboys without their horses. Mom's last collection held a doll, beaded necklaces and a soft teddy bear. She also had a tall, walking doll standing silently in the corner of the living room. Dad said that was the easiest child they'd ever had.
My last toy box was a tall storage box. It served as an end table and sometimes a footstool. It had a hinged lid and held children's books, the Little Golden Books that my granddaughter loved. There were a few Fisher-Price items like stacking circles and a squeaky pull toy, a large purple blow-up ball that habitually leaked. My bookshelf hosted two or three colouring books and two packages of Crayola crayons. Kaytlin's favourite item for a while was a Tupperware dish set, stacking tumblers and pitcher and matching plates. The whole household often obediently gathered for her tea party. Thinking back to my own kids' playthings, their interests lay more along the lines of Star Wars and space ships. We eventually had a huge supply of Lego pieces, very handy to construct security walls, watchtowers and ramps. When they were young, the oldest had a light saber, which require D batteries to operate the pulsing light. He often dressed up in costumes. The blanket off his bed made an excellent robe for Moses, with a towel for a head covering. His favourite books lined the hall floor, a paved street in a Roman town perhaps? He had a vast assortment of hats, not unlike his grandfathers. The younger one was a different story. He swept into the living room, dumped the Lego and climbed into the box. The Lite-Brite pegs spilled out of the ice cream bucket, which became an impromptu hat. They were both very intent in their roles, very serious about their play. Preparing the backdrop and scenery was time consuming and as important as the playing. We also had a season of fort building, with all the blankets off the beds strewn and stretched between chairs or over the table. The creating was enticing, the deconstruction was not.
"In my mind's eye I tiptoe in, lift the lid of that dusty trunk and let it fall with a thud. What might be inside?"
