Today Jo Knowles gave us a recipe for this story stew.

Here are the ingredients:

• An elderly woman
• A young girl
• A hat
• A piece of paper
• A hospital waiting room
• Nostalgic
• Anxious

I took up her challenge and cooked up this story stew:

“Gram, I don’t think I want to wear that hat.” I squirmed away as she tried to put the dirty (and possibly bug-infested) bucket hat on my head. Where did she find that anyway?

“You’ll see, dear. It’s a magic hat,” she said, holding it up to the light and turning it gently, looking at each stained surface with wonder and awe.

“Magic? Is it really a magic hat, Gram?” I asked, blinking, remembering when we used to wear magic hats, magic shoes, magic eyeglasses. Anything could be magic. We always played the ultimate in dress up and story time combined. Snow White and the Seven Dwarves, Theseus and the Minotaur, Odysseus and the Cyclops, the Tar Baby and Br’er Rabbit and Br’er Fox. There was no story she didn’t know!

“Magic, schmagic! Why are you always talking to me about magic?” Gram asked, angrily, as she dropped the hat onto the floor, forgetting she had even held the hat. Forgetting again she had a granddaughter. Forgetting she was in this nursing home waiting room. Waiting. Waiting for them to call her name. Waiting to be admitted to the special unit where people have forgotten about magic and buzzers sound when the doors are opened.

“I wonder when Mom will be back,” I asked, changing the subject. I wished my mom would hurry up and get back from filling out the paper work.