As I carefully carried the heirloom chandelier from my car, the prisms tinkled daintily, transporting me to another time in another place.
This chandelier’s home had been in LouLou’s dining room, a shadowed, chilly room that was only aired and used on formal occasions and holidays. In winter months, because it was seldom heated, it was used as a refrigerator for the overflow of food stockpiled for hordes of visiting relatives. I can almost taste the rich dark chocolate sheet cake that was a favorite comfort food and stored on the marble sideboard.
Because the house was old and its off-grade foundation had settled like an old woman’s bone structure, it was virtually impossible to walk across the floor without causing the dozens of prisms to start their chorus. I recall the reprimands directed at me and my cousins that we sounded like a herd of elephants tromping through the house.
The light that shone on countless family gatherings is being passed on to the next generation. I like being the courier.