Wednesday, September 7, 2011
They are among some of my favorite things. To someone outside of my family, the attraction to these little black plastic cattle might seem odd. But I love them.
Grampy used to work out of the country. They lived out of the country, in fact, until my dad was in high school. When Grampy retired and planned to move back to the States, there was a party for him. Since the family was haded to a state with lots of livestock, the tables were decorated with plastic horses and cows and tractors. It was a lovely party, and when it was over, Grammy had the cows.
I have no idea why she kept them. My dad was in high school and his siblings were already out of the house. Maybe she planned to give them to nieces and nephews. Perhaps the hostess insisted on her keeping them. Maybe because she lived through the Depression, she couldn't stand to throw them out. I really don't know.
At Grammy and Grampy's house, the toys were kept in a laundry basket in the middle bedroom closet. The cows were in that basket all my life. We drug them out time after time, and despite other choices, the cows were among the favorites. The adults would usually remark on our choice and Grammy would remind us all that those had been on the table at Grampy's retirement party in 1964.
After Grammy died and we all gathered to clean out the house, we pulled out the laundry basked to entertain the kids (I'd brought all 4) and paid them little mind as we wrapped up and packed up the treasures of our departed's lives.
Hearing a commotion in the other room, I went to see why the children were being so rowdy. They were fighting over the cows. The 40+ year old playthings were still a favorite. I laugh-sobbed as I took them from the kids and carefully packed them away with Grammy's china.
The cows live in my house now, my kids enjoy playing with them. I hope one day my grand kids will enjoy them too.