Countless, Worthless, Priceless Treasures

I have the good fortune to be married to a woman who understand the intrinsic value of things. She sees the beauty and wonder that God scatters upon the path in front of her, and takes the time to stop and enjoy it, living so much more in the moment than me. One of her favorite pastimes is looking for sea glass and shells when we’re walking on the beach. To her, a piece of polished sea glass is a precious stone. Precious is, after all, in the eye of the beholder. Consequently, we have quite a collection of various detritus from a host of favorite shorelines. That’s just fine with me, because she gets more joy from a rare and perfect piece of sea glass than many other people seem to derive from diamonds or emeralds. I’m not saying that she doesn’t deserve those as well, yet her perspective provides a commentary on how we assign value to the other things in our lives. The richest people aren’t necessarily the ones with the biggest jewels. Rather, they are the ones with beautiful memories and various keepsakes that remind them of those memories. That’s what sea glass is to us. Not so much precious stones as touch stones. This also begs the question of what we fill our lives with … and why? In the meantime, I’ll keep hauling home the pockets full of sandy treasure that my beloved finds joy in collecting. After all, it’s not just about the glass. I think she’s actually collecting joy … and that is a treasure indeed.   

 Countless, Worthless, Priceless Treasures

Wherever the water kisses

The sand, you’ll find her there

Wandering happily down the shore

Wet feet and windblown hair

Oblivious to tide and time

As the lazy hours pass

She scours the shore for shiny stones

And odd pieces of sea glass

Tucking the treasures in her pocket

Whenever they appear

And wandering down the sunlit shore

As she has throughout the years

So we have a vast collection

Of such trinkets from the shore

Countless, worthless, priceless treasures

That she collects and she adores

And why not, we know so many folks

Who pay a fortune for the things

That they think will make them happy

Yet no greater pleasure bring

Perhaps the wisest of us all

Is she who wanders happily

And finds her joy in simple treasures

From the Great Lakes and the sea

          By Frank Carpenter ©