One person I met online engaged me with a stellar message.
She wrote, “If we took a lazy Saturday afternoon drive to somewhere that’s nowhere and discover something surprising when we arrive, what might it be?”
I was surprised initially, but soon gained enthusiasm. If I can’t write something fun off the cuff what kind of writer would I be? So I sent the following back.
“A box, buried under a rock I stub my toe on. The box’s corner is all that shows but is intriguing. I get out my keys and start to dig it out. It is a solid brown wooden box, about the size of a shoe box. Holding it up and shaking, there is no rattling of contents. There appears to be a rusty lock on one side, which is quickly broken.
You insist on being the one to open it, and I stand over it to provide shade. You lever the lid upwards and are confronted by a large mass of packing material. Gingerly you remove it and are left with a porcelain taxi bus, like those seen in South America. No other clues are immediately present.
Excited we get back in the car and head to the nearest business specializing in valuable human artifacts to see just how rich we will be. The appraiser looked the small object over with a magnifying glass. He hemmed and hawed, then hawed and hemmed. Finally he sets down the glass and renders a verdict. “$3.99 at the Dollar Store. $25 please.”
It only goes to show, sometimes the care with which something is wrapped has little relationship to what it is worth.
But then again, I still have the bus. A valuable primer on subjective versus objective value.”
***
We ended up having breakfast together shortly after on her way through town. Delightful conversation, which lasted until she had to resume her trip. Her next few months are all over the country, and everywhere but here. I wouldn’t mind talking with her again, but there is little chance my slow-twitch muscles could keep up.
In the immortal words of Joni Mitchell, “Wild Things Run Fast”. Lovely to watch their progress, foolish to pursue.