Her sign made everyone chuckle.
Your grandma would enjoy playing UNO.
That was typical Lois. Sweet, innocent, behind those glasses full of wickedness. Especially the games, she had a knack of turning everything into a game.
But what most people were unaware of?
She always won.
She said “Play Uno with your grandma,” but she never told me what she was playing for.
Her sign made everyone chuckle.
Your grandma would enjoy playing UNO.
That was typical Lois. Sweet, innocent, behind those glasses full of wickedness. Especially the games, she had a knack of turning everything into a game.
But what most people were unaware of?
She always won.
I mean, always. In the leisure room, the nurses recorded scores on a whiteboard. Lois: forty-seven. Everyone else: none. Should someone come too close to winning, she would smile and draw a Reverse card as smug that you would believe she operated Vegas.
I was prepared then when I came last Thursday and she dared me to a match. I had been rehearsing. Had my plan down.
Our game lasted two hours. Laughed out loud. Spoke rubbish. She slammed down +4s like she’d been waiting all week to destroy my day.
Then she stopped just when I believed I had her—just when she had one card remaining and I struck her with a Draw Two. Looked me straight in the eye.
Then she remarked, “Should I win this next hand… you must visit the cedar box in my closet.”
I was frozen. What for?
She gave a wink. “Since you’ll eventually be old enough.”
She put down her final card.
I swear on everything, it was the quietest the room had ever been.
Dusty but clearly significant, the cedar box rested on the top shelf of her closet. Lois’s description of it made me anxious since it wasn’t extravagant—just an old wooden item with brass hinges. Like it wasn’t only a collection of photographs or random trinket.
She didn’t say anything more following our game. Just touched my shoulder and gave me one of her knowing grins. “Go on,” she gently said. “You will soon know.
Half-expecting it to weigh a ton or create some sort of mystical noise, I cautiously lifted it down from a chair. It was, nevertheless, nearly delicate. Opening it revealed three items: an antique key, a little velvet pouch, and a folded note.
What is all this? Turning back to her, I inquired.
Arms crossed, Lois rested against the door. It’s up to you to decide.
The letter arrived first. Though still tidy, her handwriting was unsteady; it was the sort of cursive they no longer teach.
Hello [Your Name],
By now, you have likely understood that I am not only playing Uno for enjoyment. Every game has stakes, right? Life itself even seems like a sequence of cards dealt from an invisible deck.
I want you to follow where these things go. They’re puzzle pieces—not mine but yours. Even if you didn’t know it, you have always been looking for something. Perhaps this will enable you to locate it.
By the way, keep the key. It opens more than just locks.
I gazed at the paper and then up at Lois. This means what?
She shrugged her shoulders. “You tell me.”
Inside the velvet pouch was a locket. The locket held a photo of two people—a young guy and woman standing next to a lake. Though neither of them appeared recognizable, the image struck me as strangely soothing as though I had seen it in a dream. Engraved in little letters on the back of the locket were “For keeps.”
Holding it up to the light, I said, “This is strange.”
“Not strange,” Lois softly corrected. “Significant.”
The important one?
The difficult aspect is that. She grinned once more, her eyes reflecting that same cheeky sparkle. “It belongs somewhere far off. Somewhere you have to go.
Waking up the next day, I was resolved to find whatever riddle Lois had started. First stop: identifying the locket’s people. I brought it to my mother, wishing she would know them.
When she saw it, “Oh my gosh,” she said. Tracing the engraving made her hands shake. How did you come by this?
“Lois gave it to me,” I said carefully. Do you know who they are?
Mom shook her head. Those are your great-grandparents. Before they died, they lived beside Lake Crescent. When I was little, we used to go every summer; until Dad passed away… Shaking her head, she fell silent. Still, I haven’t gone back there in years.
Crescent Lake. That name gave me chills. The key now made sense; it must open something at the lake. Perhaps a cabin? Perhaps a chest buried near the coast?
Two days later, I drove to Lake Crescent armed with the key, the locket, and a rucksack packed with supplies. Misty sweeping across the water like ghosts whispering secrets made it lovely in a disturbing way. I parked close to the ranger station and began inquiring.
It seems there was a cabin formerly held by my family. Abandoned decades ago, but still standing—or so the ranger believed. Though his tone implied he didn’t expect me to really discover anything, he advised me on animals and provided me directions.
Hiking for an hour brought me to.
Small and worn, the cabin’s roof sagged with age. The windows were dirty and Ivy climbed up the walls. The door had a lock, though, and the key fit exactly.
It smelt like dust and pine inside. Through board fractures, sunlight pierced and highlighted shelves stocked with jars of long-ago spoiled preserves. A trunk stood in the corner; its metal clasps corroded but still intact. Kneeling and twisting the key made my heart rush.
There was a photo album and another note inside the trunk.
Written in Lois’s hand, the letter was addressed to me.
It started, “Congratulations.” You have started to discover yourself first. This site has memories you weren’t aware you required. Remember that occasionally the best things are stories, not gold or jewelry. Value them, take them.
Spanning decades, generations of my family filled the photo album. Holidays, birthdays, peaceful lake-side afternoons. Tucked among the pages were notes, tiny stories written in various hands. One that stood out to me:
Always remember your origins. Roots run deep.
Tears sprang to my eyes as I turned the pages. Years had passed during which I had felt cut off, as though I belonged nowhere. But here, among my past, I felt… whole. As if I had discovered a lacking component of myself.
Lois got to see what I had when I came back home. She basically let me speak and occasionally nodded, listening closely. She grinned when I done.
“You see now, don’t you?” she remarked. Winning or losing is not all there is in life. It’s about the journey—the individuals, the locations, the experiences that form us.
“I understand,” I said. You weren’t just playing Uno with me. You were showing me how to play the game of life.
She chuckled. “Precisely.” Live it now.
Looking back, I see Lois was not only my grandmother. She was my best supporter, my instructor, and my leader. When she gave me that cedar box, she knew precisely what she was doing. She understood I had to reestablish contact with my family, my origins, and myself.
The lesson I took away from this is that occasionally the solutions we want are not in the outside world. Tucked away in neglected areas of our lives, they are nearer than we believe. All we have to do is see.
Should you have liked this tale, pass it along to someone in need of a wake-up call to value their own origins. And remember to press that like button; it matters greatly to us, the storytellers!
