Powder and Dust
When I was young, my grandmother, Nanny Casey, had a smooth, round container on her bathroom counter. Living next door to my grandparents, it was convenient for me to stay with them while my parents were working. They watched over me and doted on me. They taught me how to be silly (but not too silly). They let me explore all throughout their house and hide in the upstairs extra rooms and sit on the kitchen counter to eat snacks. In their bathroom, my grandmother had a container of dusting powder. I didn't know it was called dusting powder, nor what it was used for, nor did I ever see my grandmother using it (although I'm sure she did). For my young self, it was something unique that dazzled my senses. It smelled sweet and old, just like Nanny. It had holes that the powder would pour through if you started tilting it. And - my favorite part - there was a big, flat, soft poof that you used to apply the dusting powder to your face. That poof was so soft and floral and ancient. Whe