In the 1990s, when eBay was new, my friend Nadya and I saw an opportunity to complete charm bracelets we’d started when we were much younger. Bidding on interesting vintage silver charms became a rather harmless obsession that gave both of us great pleasure.
The charms on my “fairytales, myths, and other stories” bracelet were mostly moveable or opened to reveal a tiny scene inside: the sole of a boot that depicted the Old Woman Who Lived In A Shoe lifted to reveal her many children; the top of a basket slid aside to uncover baby Moses; an organ grinder was accompanied by a tiny monkey; Noah’s Ark opened to show the pairs of animals; a whale’s spout moved to disclose that Jonah was in its belly; and the Hickory Dickory Dock clock hid tiny mice inside. In addition, I cherished Romulus and Remus, a snake charmer coaxing a cobra from a basket, and, of course, a typewriter with a moveable carriage like the one I used to write my first stories.
About a decade ago, my bracelets disappeared. I searched the house high and low for them, so sad to have lost my collection of silver stories in miniature. Last week, while looking for something else, I discovered them in a wooden cigar box under a table in the upstairs bedroom. I have no memory of putting them there.
The synchronicity of finally locating the lost treasures after exhausting what I thought were all possible places they could be is that I was reading one of the most charming (no pun intended) books I’ve read lately at the time I found them. The Keeper of Lost Things by Ruth Hogan is about a man named Anthony who lives in a cottage named Padua. His hobby is rescuing lost things and trying to return them to where they belong.
I don’t think the church would say my good fortune constitutes an official miracle, but I can’t help thinking that St. Anthony of Padua, the Patron Saint of Lost Things, had a hand in giving me back my charms.
Marian Carcache welcomes
comments at email@example.com.