His memory became mine

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.