My brother and I stand at the dresser I used as a child. It is covered with sewing notions. Things our mom used to patch levis, stitch quilts, and add badges to scout shirts. Things that were useful when she was around. My brother said: “It’s just a Chex tin, but I remember it from 40 years ago.” I look at the other tin, full of spools of thread and pins and buttons. It takes me to my mom. Actually everything in the house holds a memory of my mom, my dad or my childhood. Our dad’s death evokes our mom, who has been gone almost 13 years. I pick…