Lost and found

I love those moments when you find something you lost, or you meet someone who knows a friend of yours, or knows where your tiny hometown is, or you smell a smell that reminds you strongly of a time when you were a kid — those moments when the world doesn't seem quite as big. A connection is made and you smile, because the sudden familiarity is so comforting.

On Friday my coworkers and I took a jaunt at lunch to the neighbourhood curiosity shoppe, always full of treasures to delight in and marvel at. And I saw this vase, and immediately, it looked very, very familiar to me. Made of leather, with a flange at the back where it joined, the edge of which was burnished to a smooth shine. And a wheat design, stamped and carved into the front. I recognized the shape, tall and elegant and the way the opening folded out gently, and the wheat drawing. My dad made this. I knew it. I recognized these stamp shapes. He showed me how to use them and I played with them when I was young. There was no signature or mark to indicate the hand of the artist, but I knew. So I bought it (for a mere 5 bucks), and it was only later that afternoon, when I was inspecting it again that I saw the artist's initials carved discreetly in the wheat. PSW. My dad. 

This has happened once before. It was a hot summer afternoon in Toronto, and I was exploring Bayview Avenue with Mark and some friends, and we had come upon a store called The Elegant Garage Sale and my friend said "hey, check out this cool wallhanging," and I turned, and immediately said "wow, that looks like stuff my mom used to make." A shocked pause, mid-stride, as I looked again, scanning the details through my brain as the total familiarity registered. "This really looks like stuff my mom used to make." I picked up the lower left corner and turned it over to see if there was anything on the back. There was a tag, made of leather, with my mother's name and the title of the piece. Unbelievable! It was her artwork! After a few excited moments, I called her on the cell phone, and tell her what I'd found, and she said "I remember that piece, I was pregnant with you when I made it." So of course I bought it (for 25 bucks), and the ladies in the store were excited to hear my connection to it.

Finding both of these things is a story in and of itself. But what about their stories up to this point? The gap between when they were bought from my parents, to when I found them, so many years later. What path led them to where I found them? How many people have enjoyed them? How far and where have they travelled? Kind of sounds like a book in the making...