Random Findings...

On Friday, I was cleaning out the furnace room. We store our outdoor gear in there---snowshoes and skis and tents and sleeping bags and, well you get the idea. It occurred to me that some shelves would be helpful. So I was putting them in.

I bumped a shelf into the duct work, and a little metal rectangle, a bit larger than an index card, fell down onto the floor with a loud clatter. I gasped because I thought I'd poked a hole in the duct, and stood on tiptoe to look at the duct work. And I saw this piece of brown paper. Which, naturally, I pulled on. It was a paper bag. Whatever was inside was heavy. As I pulled it toward the edge of the duct, a perfectly ordinary quarter fell on the floor. My brows furrowed and my heart thumped. I pulled the bag out, and held it in my hand for a long moment. A moment fraught with this much sheer, unexpected possibility had to be shared with someone else. So I brought the bag inside and put it on the kitchen table. Then I went out and did a bunch of other things while I waited for J. It was 3:50, and he was supposed to be home at 4. I kept wandering through the kitchen to stare at the bag until 4:40, when he FINALLY came home. At that point, I was coming in from the chicken coop with four eggs in my hand.

I said, "Come on! I've got something to show you! I didn't open it yet, because I wanted you to be here! Four eggs! Look!" which, naturally, made no sense at all to him.

As I was putting the eggs in the fridge, J casually opened the bag. I was telling him all about it, but I don't think he heard me, because I had to tell it again later. Inside the bag? More than $1000 worth of silver coins (according to wikipedia).

I told the story again, dragging J out to the furnace room, where he looked all over for other hidden treasure.

Naturally, the response has been mixed---from disbelief to amazement to envy. But the most interesting one is the response from a friend of a friend, who warned us that we shouldn't talk about it. We should keep it quiet. We shouldn't mention it out loud. Because the old owners might come and want the money back. Or get a court order to tear the house apart looking for more. I think less than charitable things about his view of the world.

Which brings me to another random finding, this one inside my own head. Apparently, I have a sincere faith in the Universe's own peculiar brand of justice. If anyone showed up with a court order to tear my house apart over $1000 in coins, I wouldn't even have to do anything. Likely, the big pine tree in the front yard would fall on their heads, and drive them like a nail down into the sewer line. So I'm just not worried about this. Instead, I'm just childishly excited by the buried treasure that I found, and I'm having fun making up stories of how the money got there. All the sudden, I'm living in Nancy Drew's or Trixie Belden's universe. How fun is that?