A Price Above Rubies

Last Friday, a friend of mine turned 50. She's the kind of person who keeps in touch with everyone she's met, even after decades of separation. Two of her best friends, women who'd been the seasoned military wives when she'd joined them, late, as a new bride with two daughters from a previous marriage, flew and drove into town for the event. Listening to their stories, to their howls of laughter - and warm remembrances - made me (me, Bunny) close my mouth and open my ears.

What I heard was the echo of my 21 moves, first with my father then my husband, and it sounded a bit hollow. I have friends whom I've known since the ninth grade - we don't see each other enough, but we talk on the phone several times a year. I have my sister, who is also one of my best friends, as well as my favorite person to run to when I have a juicy story or a powerful rant. I have my kids, here, too. And two wonderful women who are my foils and co-conspirators and my inspirations (and I swear, when I think up good names for them, I'll put them in here!). And, of course, I have the Big Lug, who is my very best friend, my constant companion and love of my life.

Now, I know that I have a king's ransom in people whom I love, and who love me. I know this. I say a silent "thank you" for them every single day. And yet ...

Something strange happened to me at that party, but I didn't really feel it until my first yard sale on Saturday. I glanced over the stuff (displayed so much more artfully than my things had been) but I didn't turn and leave. I found myself, instead, talking with (and listening to) the young homeowner who was still opening boxes and sorting the linens (yes, I was early, even for a 7 am start). They're moving, you see, after only one year in the house - renters, thank heaven, so no tragedy with the mortgage - because the husband found another job in another state ... another universe compared to here because they were able to find a house they could actually afford. I bought a lamp for more than I usually would have paid, and left, oddly disturbed by the exchange.

I let Mama Angel lead me, drifting from sign to sign like some Icelandic saga character, not thinking - just watching for the opening, as usual. A couple of quick glances at small and not-in-my-taste yard sales later, I turned at a sign that said the sale was "awesome."

What was awesome was the kids who were running it - 19, college students all. The in-charge one had dark hair and dark lips, multiple piercings and a major 'tude - with laughter in her eyes. She majors in psycholgy but wants to add a second major, physics. According to one of the group, another female (who looked like a Minnesota cheerleader), the dark one is brilliant, and will change the world. I believed her. I also believed that the blonde would do so, too, subtly, with her photography (her major) and her quiet way. The others were male, liked the loud music throbbing on the car stereo more than they wanted to talk to customers, especially an old biddy pawing through a box (filled to the brim!) of jewelry, but they definitely provided comic relief since the girls didn't just give as good as they got, they determined the game.

Thirty minutes and $15 (two pairs of earrings, a bracelet, and two beautiful necklaces) later, I went home to join the Big Lug. We were going to see one of his pipe guys about some tobacco.

Once in town, the first place I checked was my favorite consignment shop, but it was empty of antique glass this time. However, a shop that had been simply a store front the last time we were in town was now open, and I saw sparkly things inside. I went in with a sigh of delight, and almost forgot about the gemstones that surrounded me.

The owner had just returned from Iraq - he'd spent "40 years finishing a 25 year enlistment." He told me about his wife, who'd started collecting jewelry 15 years ago - all the shiny things were estate and auction items. He spoke fondly of his kids, who range from 5 to 37 (second marriage, second family), and his 7 grandkids (one of whom is older than his youngest child - the aunt is younger than the nephew). He didn't talk about Iraq at all, but we traded stories of military life. And he gave me very good deals on everything I bought. In fact, I plan to go back this Friday, just to see if it was all a dream.

By the time we returned home, late in the evening, I still hadn't identified what was nagging at me, whatever had begun at the party. No, that took something this morning, when I was on a schedule - I needed to walk to Home Depot while my car was getting an oil change, just for two items, so that I could hit the thrift store that was going to open in twenty minutes before going home. That was the plan. Then I met up with an 84-year-old man who started telling me his story, too, and since it started with "my wife, who died a year-and-a-half ago ..." I could not walk away, did not even want to. And as we stood in the middle of the aisle between "Garden" and "Plumbing," I listened to him speak of his beloved of 54 years, of his time in government service, of his days at Indiana University (my father's alma mater), and his life before, growing up in Basra. Nearly an hour later, we parted.

And I knew. I knew what had been bugging me. For seven months, now, I've been focusing on cold cash, on assets and income, on savings and projected values. It makes sense - I've moved so much, I've had little security (financial or emotional) and it takes a stick of dynamite to tear an opening in my heart. But this week I remembered. I remembered that every thing I buy, whether it's jewelry, glass or mutual funds, has people behind it - not elves but people, people who designed it, who built it, who gathered it together, who sell it, who used it ... people who have problems and histories and lives and families and losses and gains and tragedies and absurdities.

I have been telling you my story. I want to tell you theirs, as well. This isn't "The Bunny's Yard Sale Finds Show." It's treasure hunting - and finding - and sharing the treasure with you.

From here on out, I will brave the technological labyrinth to post pictures in the margin instead of in the body. I will work harder to put favorite books and web sites up, to help both chronicle my adventures and give you something to play with as well. But, even better, I will do something I'm told I'm not very good at in general - I will listen more, and I will pass the stories along to you.

Because these people - these mad, wild, sad, wonderful, hilarious, wise people - are definitely the greatest treasure we will ever find.