Fifty Cents Worth of Unhappiness...

While strolling down the isles of a two car garage, enjoying the touch and feel of other people's junk, I spied several things I thought I could not live without. 

There was a yellow antique child's chair, in good shape to be over 40 years old. The paint was peeling but the bottom was solid...that is more than I can say for mine.  It needed a home and I needed a small chair to hold an amazing 3 foot fern. Sold...it was mine.

I also bought 4 wicker baskets in various sizes. Nestled in the midst of one of the baskets was the nosegay pictured above. I picked it up then placed it on the table. I didn't need a nosegay. I wandered around for about 20 minutes, making two trips back to the table where the nosegay lay in the midst of fruit jars, a lamp and a few pillowcases.

 I picked it up twice, trying to imagine the story that belonged to the fake flowers. It had to have been a wedding bouquet, probably a second wedding since it was small. I wondered why someone would sell such a memory and for a mere fifty cents.  I felt the lady watching me as I held her memories. I smiled and said, "I bet there is a story that belongs to this bouquet."  She looked at me and said, "You don't want to know." Her smile never reached her eyes. I broke eye contact first. I felt like I had just opened a door that should have remained closed, perhaps locked.

The writer in me wanted to know the story. The woman in me felt like I should buy the flowers and leave. I added them to the pile of things I intended to purchase.

As I was paying the lady, she spoke in a low soft voice still filled with some kind of pain, telling me that the bouquet was "bad luck, very bad luck." Without thinking I told her I would take it home and burn it. She gave me my change saying, "Thank you."

 When I got home I unloaded the car, took a photo of the flowers because I knew there would be some kind of story written about that day. A few minutes later,  I took the flowers out to our fire pit, doused them with lighter fluid and watched the brief blaze.  They were consumed in a matter of minutes. The day was hot, the fire made it unbearable.  I lit a bundle of white sage and walked around the fire pit and back into my home.  This is an old Apache cleansing ceremony my daughter Lisa told me about. I do this every time something bad happens. I say a prayer and walk from room to room letting the white sage purge the air and the prayer purge the problem.

Not every thought we have needs to be said aloud.  Not every story we know needs to be fully told. Some things are better left to the imagination, some doors do not need to be opened. I believe we can touch people's lives briefly and deeply and never know their name.