I bought a quaint brown bean pot

At a festival, one day,

It had two handles and a lid,

And it was made of clay;

Too pretty to be hidden in

A cupboard, tucked away,

I put it on the kitchen counter,

For a decorative display;


Now, when we are missing buttons

Or a nail file or a pin;

We find the quaint brown bean pot

And we take a peek within;

It hoards the scraps of paper

Too important to discard—

With rubber bands and shoe strings

And a plumber’s business card;

A stamp pad and a book mark

And a tube of Elmer’s glue—

A recipe for pot roast and

Somebody’s I O U;


Such a handy little catch-all

And it keeps the kitchen clean,

Hoarding trivia and trifles,

But…it’s never held a bean.


Sandra Lee Smith 1960s



I think I bought my bean pot at the famous Olvera Street in downtown Los Angeles, possibly the first time the kids and I went there with my dear friend, Neva. True to form, it was one of the earliest places we would lose my son Chris who managed to get lost everywhere we went. Someone on a loud speaker came on, speaking Spanish, and ending with “Chreestopher Smith” We then knew where to find my #3 son.






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