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Show in my father's house/ 57 driver's license because Aunt Helga arranged to take her every place she might reasonably go. When major family arrangements were negotiated, Aunt Helga took the floor for 'the twins' while my mother sat quietly by, her hazel eyes deep in thought. But in our grey house, the differences between the two were vivid. My mother, preoccupied with house, children, and piano, sometimes didn't make her bed until noon, but Aunt Helga's bedroom was always clean and neat as a showcase: floor shining with fresh wax, bedspread blinding white, dresser dusted and closet door closed. I loved to go into that place where everything was so carefully ordered -- like the willow groves beyond the creek where animals couldn't graze or sully its fresh green. But I was forbidden to go into Aunt Helga's room while she worked. Sometimes, she let me come inside to watch as she dressed for work. The bureau drawers opened and closed -- too quickly. I glimpsed handkerchiefs and gloves, jewelry chests and boxes of stationary. I longed to touch her beautiful to things, to memorize their order,Apeer inside the bottom drawer, under the bed, in the closet. "Why don't you have nice things like Aunt Helga?" I asked my mother. "I have children instead of nice things," she smiled. Then she explained that Aunt Helga's lovely belongings were part of her reward for working so hard in my father's office. "The patients appreciate what she does for them and they bring her |