I have the wrong house.
I have the wrong kind of family. The wrong relatives, ancestors.
I need an attic.
Not a dusty one only visited by an occasional squirrel. Empty but for hot wood smell and bits of old paper
I need a real attic ~with trunks and old costumes and mysterious sounds and a looking glass they keep covered – just in case.
And – most of all – diaries
of fascinating parties and people and happenings
Where is the hidden masterpiece? Where is the priceless china?
I have seen antiques roadshow, (TWICE) I know how this is supposed to work.
Maybe its this set of old mismatched plates? I know it says IKEA…..but maybe that’s just to fool the less intrepid.
What about this old gas station map?
Under it maybe there are olde worlde directions for the gold,
with a curse
“here there be monsters….”
Wait! Was that a mysterious moaning? No, only a tree branch.
Where is the pendant at the bottom of the trunk under rustling crumbling satin? Rubies emeralds the size of pigeons eggs…
(Its always the size of pigeon eggs. that’s the rule.)
No letters? Not a one? No secret drawers? No clue scratched in wood? No passageways?
No bottle to be rubbed?
We need to move….