It was just another day at the thrift store. I wasn't looking for anything in particular, I just needed to get out of the house for a little while. I was rummaging through a shelf full of vases and kitchen pots when I saw the bucket. I was drawn to it immediately. I think it was because it looked so old, genuinely old, not that faux old junk you see in department stores. This thing had history. I picked it up and carried it around. After a few minutes of shopping I got sidetracked by a chair or something and rethought buying the bucket. I sat it down it down in a different spot. Yes I am one of those people. When I am shopping I sometimes pick out things I want, then randomly sit them down somewhere else when I talk myself out of buying them. I am positive most store employees hate me for it. This time I was glad I did it. When I walked by the bucket again, now in its new home, a very old man was smiling ear to ear admiring it. When he saw that I noticed his excitement he told me how he used to carry his lunch in a bucket like this everyday as a kid. The enthusiasm in his voice was intoxicating. "This thing has to be over 80 years old, since I am 88" he said. I asked him if he wanted to buy it and he said "Oh no honey, I don't need one of these anymore". He didn't need it anymore, but I did. I needed it because I wanted to remember his smile and vivacity. I wanted to remember the story he told me. I wanted to remember how happy it made me hearing it. I bought the bucket. :) Suddenly within a few moments his memory had become mine. The bucket was a memory of his of his youth and it was now my memory of an encounter with a stranger that made my day.
What was once used to carry a young boy's lunch is now used to hold a young woman's plant. Perfection.