While in Waldport, walking the long stretch of flat beach with my husband and my dog, I practiced hopefulness and looked for a whole sand dollar.  Hunched over, I scanned the sand.  I filled my pockets with cloudy butterscotch and milky white agates, but no shells. 

As I was walking one day, the sun glinted off a large white spot in the sand, large enough that I thought it must be a whole shell.  It was partially buried and a ridge ran down the center.  I dug my finger around one edge and pulled it free.  Flipping it over, I saw that it wasn’t a shell at all.  It was a piece of a broken china plate.  Garbage.  The pattern was bright blue, one I recognized from when I’d eaten at Asian restaurants.  This specific piece had a small boat at its center.  There was a single person riding in the boat. 

I showed it to Eric and he said, “That could have come all the way from Japan.”  I reply, “Yeah.  Either that or a nearby dumpster.”  I liked his theory better, but believed mine.