Somehow, my family came to own a giant chest filled with dress-up clothes. The chest sat in the basement, where my brother and I would play during the summers when it was too hot to go outside. One dress in particular reminded me of the country and the prairie, so I'd often put it on and imagine myself as Laura Ingalls Wilder or someone from that era. Occasionally, I would place a white, silk dress shirt on the punching bag that hung from the basement ceiling, pulling on the sleeves to create a makeshift dance partner.

The chest smelled unlike anything else in the house. It smelled of adventure and mystery and, once in a great while, like Grandma's house.