Household Inventory

Abstract

HOUSEHOLD INVENTORY Connie Jordan Green The secretary that belonged to my grandmother— golden oak I've rubbed over the years— where she kept the dairy-farm books, wrote occasional letters to her two sons who left the farm. The secretary my dad chose after her death and that my mother kept as the last real furniture to go with her into the retirement home and that I chose when Mother went into the nursing home— desk surface split along the joint oftwo large boards—our friend the wood carver reglued, reattached—cubby holes now filled with seed catalogs, public television newsletters, drawers of bank statements, my father's gardening journal, deed to my parents' farm, the last canceled checks from the nursing home. Now my children eye the household items, rearrange in their minds the rooms of their own houses—where to put the secretary and who will take it—or the corner cupboard, oak side table from my husband's grandparents, cedar chest that belonged to my aunt, confiscated by my mother for an unpaid debt— all of us debtors, household items currency we'll pay over and over. 71 ...