Now at six foot-three, I can't even stand up straight in this space, let alone sneak into the many hiding places I knew as a child.I opened the one cubby hole door (barely two foot by 2 foot) and reached my long arm in to see if my treasure chest was still there. I think I had forgotten about that chest a long time before I left this house. It was still there. I dragged it back into the light of day to see what I found so precious when I was young.My treasure chest was actually an old Roy Rogers lunchbox. One I carried during my elementary school days. The lunchbox was still in very good shape despite the years that had passed with it hidden out of sight.I opened the box and found things that invoked memories I had forgotten many, many years before. I had a four leaf clover pressed between two pieces of waxed paper. My Joe DiMaggio, Babe Ruth, Mickey Mantle, Whitey Ford, Yogi Berra, and Enos Slaughter baseball cards. For their age, their condition was very good. I found my lucky. It's too quiet in here." She laughed, but I think she knew I wasn't really joking.The kitchen was in its usual state of order and stainless-steel serenity. Greta, the housekeeper, did most of the organizing and cleaning, though I'd been known to pitch in on occasion. Sometimes that made finding my way around the kitchen difficult, because where Greta might store something and where I might look for something, could be two completely different places, but for the most part we got along."First," I said, and got some aspirin. "You want something to drink?" I filled a glass with water, swallowed two tablets and chased them down with a mouthful of water, used the rest of the glass to rinse out my mouth from the lingering puke-taste (Yum!), then turned to see if Meredith wanted anything. "Do you want something to—"She was sitting on one of the high stools that serviced the island. (For those of you unfamiliar with architecture, that's a freestanding counter not connected to the wall.) I'd.
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