Everyone loves the hunt. You set your sights towards finding the perfect accessory, furnishing, gift, collection addition or treasured lost item. Then, bingo, there it is... in your hands. AHHH. Found it !!!! hurray, yippee or whatever exclamation fits. The words don't matter as much as the feeling of success the "find" gives you. Less often, "the find" itself, surprises and leaves you speechless.They're closing down my parent's home. My father was a pack-rat of the highest order. As children of The Great Depression, he and my mother were frugal. Living through financial and wartime rationing teaches you the value of keeping, repairing, and mending things. So, there are just stacks and stacks. I was given a few hours to "hunt" for what I wanted to keep. I packed the china, crystal, and silver. Then rescued some old family photos and papers. No cabinet, drawer or closet shelf went unexplored.
While peering into the bottom corner of a dark cupboard, filled with old pots and pans, I spied something red which, seemed out of place there. Pushing the other items aside, I reached in and dragged out an old painted tin. Suddenly and inexplicably, I was six years old. My mother was opening the lid to give me a homemade chocolate chip cookie and telling me what a good girl I was for making my own bed. In that moment, "the find" had made me small and speechless. I remembered all the good times when the lid came off that tin and the warm, sweet reward was handed over to it's proud recipient. I went hunting for heirlooms and "valuables" while packing up the remains of my old life in my parent's home and returned with a pretty good find. There are cookies in the tin right now. My friend baked them all for me as a gift, which also makes me feel loved, and leaves me somewhat speechless at her kindness. It seemed like just the right place to store them.