The Jolt

Recognition: Stories From the Hunt

When I walk into an antique mall or a big shop full of old things, something strange happens to my brain.

At first I think everything is a treasure.

Then I think nothing is a treasure.

And then, suddenly, I find a treasure.

I don’t really have a system. I just wander. The closest comparison I can think of is my dog on our evening walk, sniffing everything with complete focus and happiness. I move slowly, looking at everything, my eyes and brain in constant conversation until, if I’m lucky, I see something that makes me jolt.

The first time it happened was a few years ago when my husband and I drove to Texas to see the total solar eclipse.

The eclipse itself was extraordinary. One of those moments where the whole world suddenly goes quiet and strange and beautiful at the same time. Afterward, though, the roads were completely packed. Everyone was trying to leave at once, so we stopped in a large antique mall to wait out the traffic. It was a big place, crowded and full of very nice things. Unfortunately, the dealers knew the value of everything and It all felt very retail.

After a while I admitted to myself that I probably wouldn’t find anything. There was no treasure to be had. I gave up hope and started wandering aimlessly while we waited for the traffic to clear.

We ended up in the very back corner of the building, down in the basement where the mildew smell was strongest. And that’s when I saw it, sitting on the bottom shelf, surrounded by dusty objects that clearly hadn’t been moved in ages, and felt the biggest jolt of all.

It had that unmistakable Art Nouveau feeling with long flowing lines that looked like they were growing down the body of the vase, stylized tulip forms near the neck, warm copper with a deep natural patina, and sculptural handles that looked like they had grown there.

I didn’t hesitate, I had to have it. So I bought it for the outrageous price of twenty-two dollars. At the register the woman helping me smiled and said, “You know, you could clean that up with a little salt and lemon.” I just looked at her for a moment. I mean… sure. I could. If I wanted to remove all of its value.

Instead I took it home exactly as it was. For the next few days I kept wandering past it, gazing at it, thinking about it. I tried to research it, but I never really learned much about where it came from or who made it.

When I finally listed it online, it sold in under twenty minutes. That moment felt like a kind of vindication. Because when something truly special appears, I don’t dither. I don’t pause. I don’t stand there doing research on my phone. I grab it quickly before anyone else can and walk out the door feeling like a lucky thief.

I don’t get the jolt every time I buy a treasure. But every time I get the jolt, I know I’ve found something truly special.