The Bureau

I have my grandmother’s bureau, the last piece of her bedroom suite that occupied the upstairs south-facing corner room in their foursquare house on North Main Street. Once there was a chifforobe and a double bed frame and a vanity to match, all with  dark walnut finish, dating from the 1920s perhaps. 

Opening its drawers, I can still catch a whiff of the scent I remember when this grandmother - my mother’s diminutive mother – moved through my early life. 

This grandmother was called Danny, after my mother’s plan for my elder brother to call her Granny (the moniker she claimed to despise) came out of his toddler mouth as Danny. This grandmother is the one I remember in a cloud of cigarette smoke, l’Origan perfume and Beeman’s gum.

Danny worked part time in Rosenbloom’s Men’s & Boy’s Store, one of the clerks along with Mrs. Shaw and Mrs. Rosenbloom. They wore tape measures around their necks, at the ready to custom fit inseams and sleeve length.

At the time when going downtown included stops at the many shops along Main and Second Street, I carry vague memories of Danny moving between the large flat cases with shelves displaying the sweaters and shirts, and Lee jeans and Hanes underwear, The blazers and suits hung on racks suspended on the perimeter, along with slacks with zig zag bottoms, waiting for custom hemming. It seemed cavernous with its mysterious back room where the men went to the fitting room and the clerks went to the bathroom. 

My mother once told me Danny used the money she earned working at Rosenbloom’s to be able to buy beautiful things. Danny loved beautiful things, coveted beautiful things. After she died, I helped my mother sort through the clothing stored in the bureau and the chifforobe and the vanity. The silky undergarments and soft nightgowns, cashmere sweaters, pleated wool slack. And hanging in the closet, dresses for any occasion, including a stunning slip dress in a green and ivory paisley pattern with a floating overdress, its shoulder pads stiff with age. My mother claimed a spring coat from that closet, a buttery yellow color with the tags from Moren’s Dress Shoppe still attached.

Danny loved china and crystal and snowy white  table linens. We carried a tote full of Danny’s Ermine Blue Spode china to its new home with Danny’s great-granddaughter Kate on one of our cross-country road trips. Kate sets the table with it for special occasions as I remember family gatherings with Danny and Granddaddy at  the head and foot of the long dining room table..

The mirror on Danny’s bureau is getting hazy, the two wide drawers have been repaired repeatedly and lately have begun sticking again. It’s likely time to let it go, to let it all go.