It has been a long time – over a year! – since there was a ‘curious things’ entry. I suppose this is because there is nothing curious in these parts. More likely: I simply forgot to do so.

Yesterday as the refrigerator men were hauling away the old and bringing in the new, I spotted a large marble on the floor. I picked it up and asked the man if he had lost his marble. He was initially taken aback by this question but upon seeing the marble he assured me with a grin it was not. He conjured it had rolled out from underneath the fridge during the moving process. He’s seen this sort of discovery before; the marble must be mine. The glass orb was heavily coated with dust and grime, supporting his hypothesis it had come from under the GE.

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I washed off the gunge and found it was a lovely thing. Later, when Someone came home from work, he rationalized it must have been the the boy’s marble, the boy in the family from whom we bought the house. This seemed reasonable so I didn’t argue against it.

My marble metanoia unsettled me. We bought the house (with fridge) ten years ago; the marble had been sitting under it for over a decade. As a boy this sort of discovery would put me into hysterics for I had lot of belief toys had souls. Imagine this poor disconsolate marble, weeping away for over at decade, suffering so from separation anxiety, for his long-gone master.

I thought of contacting the former owners to inform them I found the boy’s marble and would he like it back. Chances are the boy is now in his 20s and hardly interested in marbles, nor would he remember it. His parents would think I had lost my marbles or (worse) think me a perv for wanting to get in touch with their son, the marble a mere pretense to do so.

So I guess I will keep this glass gem although I am not sure what to do with it. On the dresser is a small box for bricolages. The marble can join the other curious but useless knick-knacks I can’t seem to discard.

On second thought perhaps I should roll it under the new fridge and let the next owner find it twenty year’s hence. If marbles could talk . . . .

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