The dealer had noticed my excitement, and when she came over I told her the story of the missing box. She said the china hade from an estate sale in Pasadena—the next town over from Arcadia, where we had lived when I was a child. When she was going through the contents of the estate, she had found an old unopened carton stored in the garden shed, and the china was in it. She queshoned the heirs about the china and they said that they knew nothing about it, that the box had been in the shed “forever.”
I left the Rose Bowl Flea Market that day laden with my amazing treasure. Even now, six years later, I am filled with wonder that “all the pieces in the universe” tumbled together to let me find the missing china. What would have happened if I had slept in? What gave me the itch to go to the Rose Bowl on that particular day? What if I hadn’t turned that last corner, choosing instead to leave and rest my aching feet?
Last week I had a dinner party for fifteen friends. We used Grandmother’s china. And at the end of the meal, I proudly served coffee in those beautiful cups and saucers that had been missing for so long.