By Vicki Rackner, M.D.

You never know what you’ll find on a treasure hunt. That’s the phrase my son and I repeat as we begin our weekly outings to the thrift store. It’s our equivalent of “Runners on your mark…get set…GO.”  We go to the thrift shop to find buried treasures. We know that sometimes we will come out empty-handed. We know sometimes it will take some digging. And we know that sometimes we will strike it rich.

Treasures of Childhood

One afternoon while walking through the door of the thrift store I saw something that took my breath away. There in the glass display case, several yards on the right as you enter the door, was the same type of china collection that my grandmother owned!  I was instantly transported to my childhood. 

I was at Nanny Leah’s lake home in bed, awakened by the smell of freshly-cooked buttermilk pancakes.  Before I got out of bed I noticed the sunshine poking through the sheer curtains that fluttered in the gentle breeze, warming my face. I knew that in the kitchen Nanny Leah would have a plate of pancakes waiting for me…with butter melting and real maple syrup and fresh fruit from the farmer’s market sliced over the top. The pancakes were always served on chipped dishes with fluted green edges and pink roses. The tile of the hall floor was gritty with the dirt all of us would track in from our trips to the garden or down to the lake to see the whiskers on the catfish.

Nanny Leah would take a few seconds from the stove to give me a hug.  There wasn’t much time for affection, because there was always so much work to do.  Planting sweet potatoes in the cut-off cream cartons. Sewing clothes for my Barbie Dolls. Or rushing off because she heard Aunt Beverly, an epileptic, begin one of her “fits.”

This entire childhood scene, played out in five-sense Technicolor, was triggered by the sight of those plates with the green fluted edges and the pink roses.

I had just struck the mother lode of thrift store treasures.  The sign on top of the dinner plate said:

Desert Rose

94 pieces!!

some vintage

some newer

3 different labels

$450

As my childhood scene was being replayed in my head, the adult in me took over. In thrift store dollars, this was a fortune. This is the place where you can find an Armani jacket for $10.  Never mind that the retail value of these 94 pieces of Nanny Leah’s china was at least double the thrift store price.  In thrift store currency, this was the equivalent of a car purchase.  It warranted careful thought and consideration.

I already had five sets of dishes. I had a lot of clutter. I told myself to exercise discipline and pass it up.  I had enjoyed the brief travel to a delightful childhood memory, but that was all.

The next week I visited the thrift store and Nanny Leah’s china was still there.  I was surprised.  The china was even advertised on eBay.  Why hadn’t someone else snatched up this treasure?  My resolve to decrease clutter was weakened, but I still resisted.

The following week, as I walked though the parking lot, I told myself the set was sure to be gone. There it was in the glass display case.  I asked the clerk if the set had been sold and just not wrapped.  She said no.  I made a bargain with myself.  When I got the advance for the book proposal in the agent’s hands I would treat myself to the china. 

Two more weeks passed.  No word from the agent.  The dishes remained in the display case.

Months later, I went to that same thrift store. It wasn’t the standard treasure hunt.  The night before, my house had burned down. Thank goodness my son and I were fine, but now, the only clothes I owned were the ones on my back when I left my burning house: a wrap-around skirt with elephants dancing on the hem and a beige sweater set which had been a treasure mined at that same thrift store.

I had a purpose for this trip: a couple of pair of pants, a few shirts, a purse, and a dog bed.  I was caught up in my list, but I still stopped in my tracks when I saw Nanny Leah’s china set.

I knew in that moment I was going to buy it.  Right then and there. I didn’t even have a place to store the dishes, much less cook a meal or set a table.  I asked the thrift store clerk if I could get a discount on the dishes. 

I got a $25 discount. That was all I needed to justify my purchase. I bought the 94 pieces of Desert Rose china, along with two pair of pants, a blouse and a satchel.  I asked the thrift store clerk to wrap the dishes and told her I would pick them up later.

The next week was a blur of meetings with new people, non-stop phone calls, visits to the charred remains of the house and filling out forms.  And shopping.  Lots of shopping.  Shoes, underwear, books on helping children through loss.  In general, I walked through those days with a deep knowing that everything was going to be OK. At unexpected moments, however, I was jarred into my new logistic reality. Four days after the fire it rained and the realization that I didn’t even have an umbrella reduced me to tears. A voice said, “Don’t worry. You’re not made of sugar and you’re not going to melt.”  It was Nanny Leah’s voice.

My top priority was finding a place to call home.  I like to send down long, deep roots. My insurance company would rent me a place until my own house was built.  I looked at several houses.  One smelled of cigarette smoke.  Another was dark.  A third was too far away.  My agent gave me the address of another to look at.  I pulled into the driveway and peeked through the windows of the house.  I walked into the potting shed.  It was perfect! 

A New Home, with Old Memories

Less than two weeks after the fire, I settled into my new home, complete with rented furniture, dishes and towels.  I had a bed, a shower.  It was time to pick up Nanny Leah’s china.  I invited my son’s dad and his fiancée to dinner.  We used the dishes from the rental agency.  That night, I took Nanny Leah’s china out of the car and showed my son.  He loves fancy things. We keep kosher, so we needed to decide if Nanny Leah’s china should be used for milk or meat.  Milk, we decided.  That way we could use the china more often.

As I unwrapped the dishes I told my son Nanny Leah stories.  She was an extraordinary matriarch.  She was the rock-solid foundation of the family who had experienced a lifetime of amazing feats.  She wasn’t showy.  She had a quiet wisdom.  Some of her expressions were woven into the fabric of my being.  “Get an education.  Money is round and it can roll away, but you’ll always have an education,” and “You catch more flies with sugar than vinegar,” although as a child I never understood why you would want to catch flies in the first place.  What I most remember about Nanny Leah was her steadfast resiliency.  No matter how desperate the situation, she always held out hope for a better tomorrow. 

The next morning we decided to have breakfast on the new china.  I didn’t have much in the house, but I had the makings of a great breakfast.  Bread, milk, eggs, fruit, coffee, salt, pepper.  My son asked for French toast, which I gladly made.  I put milk in the china creamer with the green fluted edges and pink roses and filled the sugar bowl.  I set out all five pieces of the place settings.  French toast on the dinner plates, blueberries and yogurt in the bowls, sliced cantaloupe on the bread plates, and coffee in the cups set on the saucers.  As I looked around I realized why I felt so at home in this house.  It was just like Nanny Leah’s lake home!  My son was having the same childhood experience as I did, eating off the same china.

Maybe it’s Nanny Leah’s spirit that gives me the certainty that it will all be OK.  Nanny Leah certainly instilled a love of a treasure hunt in me.  She could dig though human shortcomings and see the best of people.  She could wade through tragedy and find the blessings.  The Desert Rose china is a real treasure. A treasure that brought me back to the wisdom and courage of my Nanny Leah.  And, just like my memories of Nanny Leah, it’s there when I most need it.