”What's in your attic?” asks a popular television show. “Lots' would be my quick answer before I concentrated on sorting the collection into lists.

Offhand, I cannot think of anything in my attic that would be very exciting to talk about. That was not the case of my Grandmother's attic where we played as children.

A friend was recently reminiscing about the intrigue of her grandmother's attic. A closet in the attic held vintage clothing hung up on a stretched rope and she would take down the garments and play dress-up. Her baby bed was stored in the attic, and everything there seemed to reflect on a past era.

Maybe going up the enclosed staircase was part of the appeal, she reasoned. I agreed. Entering today's attic via a pull-down folding ladder has little romance compared to a dark and musty staircase whose steps creaked and groaned.

In my grandmother's attic was a sidesaddle, the center of which was covered with red velvet. I couldn't imagine such a fancy thing being on the back of Old Jeff, the only horse I knew. He was Grandpa's fishing horse.

Some old medical books that belonged to doctors of past generations had illustrations in them that provided us with a more advanced education than the underwear section of the Sears & Roebuck catalog.

Straw hats and felt hats were warped out of shape from hanging on a nail driven into the log wall.

Our favorite furnishing of the attic was a quilt box large enough for us to get inside. The top was not hinged and we managed to slide it to the side. Once hunkered down in the box, we conjured up all sorts of imaginary games and fears.

Plenty more stuff was in the attic, but exact images are too recessed in my memory to retrieve.

A rainy day was the best time to play in Grandmother's attic. The sound of rain on the roof was close above our heads, but we felt safe and cozy. If the wind was blowing, rain came in around the shutter doors on either side of the chimney and we had to stay away from that end of the room. A leafy vine grew through a crack between one shutter and the windowsill.

Usually our mom had to call us to come down. Rarely did we get tired and leave the attic on our own, even in the stifling hot weather or chilling cold.