I am ten or eleven years old. My mom has a top lefthand drawer in her low bureau, with the big mirror, in which she keeps her jewelry, in its original boxes, her hankies, ironed and folded neatly, and a small box, about 6 inches by 9 inches which is decorated with pastel scenes of chic women in designer outfits of the early sixties, very modern, tight skirts, short jackets, adn pillbox Jackie Kennedy hats.

Mom lets me play with the things in that drawer. I carefuly take each box out and put it on top of the bureau, or carry them over to her bed. There I lay them all out, taking out each set of necklaces and earrings, trying them on; looking in the mirror. Then, having saved the best for last, I take out the chic Parisian box.

My uncle, one of mom's older brothers, was the second top person in the U. S. Weather Bureau. He served in a lot of diplomatic assignments and one of those happened to be in Paris, France. When he returned, he brought her back a little memento, as he always did.

I open the box Uncle Art brought back and I look at each shimmering tiny bottle with its expensive liquid....Parisian perfume. I can barely make out the names, as I don't know much French. I take only the top cap off, not the inner stopper, as that would be too extravagant. I waft each one under my nose, never using any without asking mom first. This was the special stuff, the reserve stuff, only for special occasions. After testing each one, I carefully replaced each bottle in its tiny cut out niche, nestled so carefully that not one had broken on my uncle's flight home.

A year and a half ago, mom passed away. We children had a weekend, really one day, to go through her things, together, and keep what we wanted. There nestled amongst her other things, was that box, with its now over 35 year old perfumes, still smelling wonderful, barely used. The hinges of the box a little worn, a couple of the bottle tops cracked, but still carefully treasured as a symbol of her big brother's love and as one of the finer things in life, of which she didn't get a lot.

Now I have that little box and it always reminds me of the gentility and culture of mom and the love she had for us all.

(With apologies to the perfume thread. I wanted to save this for my TFTD and I know it is contrary to what I posted there, except that I did say some of the mroe expensive perfumes are tolerable to my sensitive system.**BG**)