Treasures

My friend and I have a little circuit that we run. No, I do not speak of the type which ends with firmer thighs , or buns of steel, and the exercise of which I speak requires more than 45 minutes to see real results. More than this, it requires commitment, determination, planning and strategy.

The quest? To liberate an old piece of enamel wear, a quilt, old church bench, or tea pot from an out of the way thrift shop. We coordinate schedules, unearth extra car seats from dark corners in the garage, pack a snack and some tea , then we're off to the races. There is usually a child napping in the back seat before we reach our destination, but the thought of a "new" 25 cent toy is enough to chase the sleepy-grumpies away. As for us adults, the anticipation of what may be found beneath old undies and tacky furniture turns us into children ourselves.

The thrift shop is a culture all its own. Racks of discarded clothing, rows of mismatched glasses, a bucket of wallets, and near the back an odd assortment of furniture and plumbing supplies. While we sift through the rows of books for an old bit of illustration, or the sort of photo book that holds black pages and silver corners, the kids explore .

On one such a venture the kids found a turqoise colored toilet near the back and had great fun opening and closing its lid. Grateful to know where they were, I perused the rows of shirts where my trained fingers hunted for textures and well weathered, preshrunk goodies for my boy. My friend has found some lovely hand-embroidered pieces to encorporate into a quilt project. Bang! Bang! ha ha ha! I hear the boys delight in their unusual plaything.

I glance back to laugh with them and in that one horrifying instant, realize that in their innocence, they could have no concept of the intricacies of indoor plumbing or that a toilet standing all alone on a thrift shop floor has no capacity to deal with a relieved bladder. I am thrilled of course, that they are learning to be independent and I can't chide them for finally using the potty all by themselves. Still, I must behave like an adult, I cannot clutch my treasures to my chest and run screaming from the store.

God bless those store clerk volunteers for a hearty sense of humour, directions to a large roll of paper towel, and a trusty friend to help me make the thing right.

As the saying goes, "the best laid plans of mice and men often go awry". We had started out well prepared, but on that day we came away with more than just a few old treasures: the unexpected, gracious kindness of the store clerks, the joy of laughter, and the undeniable durability of friendship. But that's one of the things that I love about the hunt. You just never know what you might find.....