After the last crumb of biscuit was eaten; the last lick of apple jelly was gone; and the last drop of cream and sugar filled coffee was sipped at breakfast; it was time for play. Running to the sideboard cabinet, made by my great grandfather, my sister and I waited for the key. My grandmother, still clad in her apron, turned the corner from the kitchen, key in hand to open our favorite compartment in the cabinet. Then the lock clicked and the little door opened to reveal our favorite toy of them all. An old sugar bucket, filled with scarves. That is all. No bells or whistles included. No batteries needed. Run on pure imagination, the scarves transported us to places and worlds unknown.

My grandmother had collected the silk scarves over the years from her travels both near and far. They were intriguing, some with bright vibrant colors. Others more subdued, like something she would wear to a wedding or maybe even a picnic. They were differing lengths, and shapes. Some were rectangles, others square. One or two almost like table runners in their thin but long length, perfect for a long train of a gown for a princess.

Our anticipation of the scarf bucket was palpable. We were almost giddy, as we opened the lid to reveal them. The scent of adventure rising to our noses…musty, mixed with a whiff of White Shoulders powder and a note of pine. Our first order of business was to dump them to divide them out. With the enthusiasm of a wagon full of gypsy women we dug into the pile. Sorting who got which ones, as if we hadn’t ever seen them before.

Next, we made them into skirts, head scarfs, neckerchiefs, and belts…even bracelets. Seeing if we could get all of them into one outfit at the same time. We were the beautiful gypsy women moving and twirling to make the scarves dance. Laughing and feeling free. We turned this way and that, catching the light to show them off. After our fashion show, we took them off and started our real play…the stories.

We made stories up on the spot. “I’ll be the farm girl. You be the princess.” Or “I’ll be the Queen and you be the ballerina.” I vaguely remember a time where Melinda was a dog with a tutu of many colors, and I was her owner with a leash made from a table runner. Or a time when I tied many scarves to one to create the mane of a horse. I galloped around like a stallion made of fire. We could make up stories for hours and hours. We each took our turn. The scarves were used interchangeably between us and the more creative ways we could come up with the better. When we tired of the game, we carefully put them back into the bucket and it was locked away once again, like the hidden treasure that it was. I often wonder if the fact they were locked up made them more valuable in our eyes. I know, later on, the sugar bucket was out when we arrived. I think that made it seem less exotic somehow, but by then the game was an entrenched part of our time there. A routine of imagination and adventure which transported us, though we never even left the room.

I have the sugar bucket in my house now, as well as the sideboard. The bucket is one of the things I am saving, that my kids will not want. When I see it, I still can remember back to how we defeated boredom in the summers and it brings a smile to my face. I don’t know what happened to the scarves. Maybe sold at an estate sale? Maybe given away? I wish I had them. I think they would still smell like a mix of summer fun and my grandmother to my nose, and I bet I could come up with a story or two to tell.