Maybe this is my foot, but maybe it is Bucky’s. It does not have a name or an age written on it, as did most of the hands and feet in our grandparents’ silver drawer.
Bet I have your attention now.
About once a year, Mar Mar and Granddaddy would bring home the stuff with which he made dental molds. In her kitchen, Mar Mar would whip up a batch of squishy goop and we’d have to stick a hand or a foot in it and hold very still for it to set. (That was asking a lot.) When it was set, you worked your little hand or tootsie out of the goop with a schloop! Then Mar Mar would pour the plaster into the mold. It didn’t take long until she could peel away the rubbery goop and — voila! — there’d be a lil piece of yourself. And because she kept all of them, even the “outtakes,” she had a big dining-room drawer full of little hands and feet. When friends came over, they almost always asked to look in the drawer, which was so normal to us, but so not-normal to them. I felt totally special. “What, you don’t have your feet in a drawer?”
When we were all grown up, and it came time to sort through the drawer and claim our pieces, Bucky and I had to compare our little toes. We think this is my little toe.
ginnygram 
Ginny, this has to be the weirdest thing I have ever heard of, I can honestly say you are the first person I have known to have molds of their feet and hands stored in the dining room cabinet
Gin, This pales in comparison, but I have my grandfather’s leg….with the bottle of whiskey he stashed in it back in 1973.