My Aunt Beverly has always had what my cousins and I refer to as “The Closet.” Inside said closet lay forgotten jewels; gifts, bags, purses, bows, wrapping paper, and even toys from McDonald’s Happy Meals. Watching her open that door and unearth such treasures was like the girl version of Indian Jones.

Aunt Beverly would fling the closet door open when we were leaving her house. Mom would don our coats and hats and tell us to kiss Aunt Beverly goodbye and she would shout, “Wait just a minute!” She would hunker down in her closet, pulling out treats for us.

“Elizabeth, do you need a pink dress for your Barbie? I have one right here.”

“Rebecca, do you want a water gun? How about a paddle ball?”

They were our parting gifts. Aunt Beverly’s way of giving us treats just because she loved us. Over the years that closet has rendered aid in tight situations. Forgot to buy a baby shower present? Visit Aunt Beverly’s closet.

“How about a set of bottles and a headband? Huh. Here’s a set of steak knives. I forgot I bought those.”

I always marveled at this closet. It was a magical place, sort of like something from Harry Potter. But I could never understand how Aunt Beverly could forget she bought steak knives and embroidered baby bibs.

But here I am years later. Now I have my own closet. A closet that mysteriously re-gifted forgotten Halloween stencils to me. I suppose it’s my family’s own brand of practical magic.