By Regena Handy

Early on it was the one thing we agreed we had to have. When the lot number was announced by the auctioneer, we were front and center, prepared to pay whatever it took.

The sale was to liquidate the personal property of my husband’s grandparents. His fraternal grandfather had died unexpectedly a few months before and the grandmother, suffering from dementia, now resided in a nursing home.

I’d seen the cabinet in the kitchen during the early days of dating their grandson but gave it little notice. After all, I was a teenage girl in the late sixties — there was a lot going on in my world at that particular time — I had other things on my mind. At some point the history of the cabinet or cupboard, as it was often referred to, was shared with me. It was bought decades before from a local carpenter and blacksmith.

That carpenter was my maternal grandfather.

On the day of the auction, a number of other bidders also showed interest in the cabinet.  With every offer made, my husband would counter bid. We anxiously began to wonder if our limited budget would be sufficient.

Then the curious occurrence that I’ve seen at other auctions over the years — whispers of “he’s a grandson” passed through the crowd and other bidders considerately gave way to my husband.

My grandfather was about 88 years old at the time this took place. I dropped by his house later to tell him about the auction and our delight in purchasing the cabinet at the bargain cost of slightly less than $300.

After I finished my story, he leaned back in his chair and chuckled. His response is still clear in my mind.

“I remember making that cabinet for Mr. Handy,” he told me. “It was in the dead of winter, cold in the workshop, and I took sick and had to have the doctor. I sold the cabinet for $17 and the doctor bill was $21.”

It was my turn to laugh.

“Grandpa, I must have inherited my luck from you. One step forward and two steps back. Story of my life.”

The cabinet now makes its home in a corner of our dining room. Crafted from oak timbers, the upper section is inset with glass paneled doors. My uncle recalls my grandfather ordering the glass knobs that adorn the doors and drawer from a Sears-Roebuck catalog.

While we store special glassware in the cabinet, Grandma used it for more practical purposes. Like most homemakers of that generation, she cooked three complete meals daily and kept leftovers for later use. For some time after the cabinet came to us, my husband wouldn’t allow it to be cleaned.  He said it still smelled like Grandma’s biscuits.

Often when I open the cabinet door, I remember his words and just for a second believe I catch a whiff, as well. Sometimes I envision my grandfather shaping the pieces of wood on a cold winter day. And occasionally I wonder if they ever imagined how their lives would eventually intertwine through an old cupboard that would be owned by their descendants someday