Someone's Treasure

Someone’s Treasure



I had a purpose in life one time, but now, nothing. I have been sitting on a bottom shelf in a dark and forlorn furnace room for over thirty years. I feel as if I have been placed in solitary confinement never to be released. Day after day I am alone with my memories of my past usefulness when I was out and about bringing joy to people at picnics and family gatherings. Let me tell you a little bit about myself. I was rescued from destruction on a pottery dump a long time ago.



I remember it all now. “Oh, look! What a pretty colorful bowl,” Maria said picking me up out of the rubble of other broken crocks.

“This one appears to be in good shape except for a few flaws around the rim. It will make an ideal potato salad bowl. You know I need a big bowl that will hold enough for an army.”



Yes, that’s how it all began many years ago. I heard her friend, Faye, reply, “Yes, you sure do. You always make the best potato salad in the world,” she remarked.



She continued, “I don’t know about that, but everyone seems to like it,” Marie said laughing. “Maybe it will even taste better if I serve it in this colorful pottery bowl.”



Yes, I was colorful. A cerulean blue band encircled the top with pink and blue swirls on the inside. I don’t know how I had survived being dumped out of the wheelbarrow along with equally nice bowls that ended up in multiple pieces. I said to myself, “I must surely have a purpose in life. Surely someone will find me today and take me home.”



I noticed Faye looking at the pottery bowl, and she seemed a little envious. In fact, she commented, “I wish I could find one similar to take home.” As she continued picking through the heap, she said to Marie, “You know, Marie, I have four kids to feed, and I need to make enough for an army just to feed them. You know my boys, David, Bill, and John are growing up eating me out of house and home.”



“I know what you’re saying,” Marie said as she moved to another part of the dump noting other bowls piled high on the heap. “Whoever would have thought we would be pottery dump hunters?” she said laughing.



I hoped that they weren’t ashamed of me and the fact that I was considered worthless by the pottery workers who dumped me out there not caring whether I was broken or not.



I remember hearing Faye say, “I sure wouldn’t have thought I would be out here today, but it IS a lot of fun. You know the old saying, ‘one person’s junk is another person’s treasure.’”



“Thank heavens!” I thought to myself. “I think they will value me after all. In the meantime, Faye located a similar bowl only it had a pink band around the top and little pink and yellow flowers inside. At least she was not going home empty handed.



I wondered what my new life was going to be like. I wondered how my purpose would unfold. That was yet to be seen, but I was looking forward to it.

Arriving at a new location, I sat on the kitchen counter waiting for Marie to start making the potato salad, but she didn’t. A week went by and I was still sitting in the same spot. At breakfast that morning, Marie said to her husband, “Jack, today is the Sunday school picnic. Think I will make some potato salad and serve it in the new bowl I found the other day. I was thrilled to find one this big. You know, I always make enough for an army.”



Cooking the redskin potatoes with the skins on, she filled another pot with cold water to cook the eggs. Actually Marie didn’t pull out a cookbook with a recipe. She didn’t measure anything. She just guessed at how many potatoes and eggs she needed. While the potatoes and eggs were cooking, she chopped up some onions and celery. I felt useful already. Then when the potatoes were cool enough she removed the skins and chopped them up in little pieces and added to the celery. Running cold water over the eggs, she began peeling them and chopping them up. “Jack, the bowl is almost full already! I’m so glad I found it at the pottery dump. It is just the right size!” she exclaimed.



I felt so proud to be a part of this family. I knew that I would be well cared for over the years.



“Now to mix up my famous dressing,” I heard Marie say. She started with her favorite salad dressing and plopped a lot of it in another mixing bowl never measuring a thing. Then she added cream, sugar, mustard, salt, and vinegar along with celery seed. How did she know it was the way she wanted it, I wondered. I soon found out. She took a spoon and tasted it. She knew exactly how it should taste. After all she had made it over and over until she had perfected it.



Mixing it with the potatoes, she was ready to try a sample and share a tiny bit with her husband, Jack.



“Hon, this is the best potato salad you have ever made,” Jack told her smiling. “The people at the picnic will love it.”



That was my life for many years. I was useful, and I was happy going from one picnic to another and to every family reunion. Yes, I had a purpose. Then all of a sudden things changed. I ended up being inherited by someone who didn’t make potato salad.



Joni was her name, and I didn’t like her very much. She said unkind things about me. For example, “why did they give me this old rough pottery bowl with flaws around the edge. It’s entirely too big, and I probably won’t use it in a million years. I think it’s ugly and clunky,” Joni said.



It hurt my feelings, to say the least, for I had been treasured at my other home. That’s how I ended up on the bottom shelf in a dismal furnace room sitting there for over 30 years.



One day after almost giving up hope, I heard voices coming down the stair steps and someone saying, “Do you still have Mom’s old pottery potato salad bowl?”



“Why do you ask?” Joni asked her sister, Carolyn. “Why would you ask about that old thing? Do you want it?”



“Yes, I really would like to have it—that is if you don’t want it,” Carolyn replied not wanting to upset Joni.



“I would be glad to get rid of it,” Joni said. “It has been taking up space for years. I always thought they gave me that bowl to remind me that I never made potato salad and didn’t like that old bowl besides.”



“Oh, I don’t think that was it,” Carolyn replied. “I was the one who wanted the bowl, but for some reason they wouldn’t give it to me because I was only your half sister. Maybe they didn’t think I deserved to have Mom’s favorite treasure.”



“I never thought of it that way,” Joni said softening up a little bit about the whys of the past.



“If you want to give it away, please give it to me,” Carolyn said. “I would love to have it.”



“Then it’s settled,” Joni said. “I wish I had known how you felt about it long ago.”



After chatting some more, Carolyn looked at her watch. “I’ve got to be home by 1:00. I’ve got to make potato salad for the Sunday school picnic. I’m sure glad to have this bowl. I always make my potato salad just like Mom used to make hers.”



I listened as I heard Carolyn talking. Then she picked me up and walked up the basement steps. I knew for certain that I was going to be happy once again after all these years and most of all have a purpose in life. I knew that Carolyn would never stick me on a bottom shelf in a dark basement and forget about me.



Sitting on the front seat of her car, Carolyn glanced over at me and said, “This pottery bowl made my mother so happy, and I know it’s going to do the same for me!”