The Treasure may not endure
The treasure may not endure.
I am a collector, and coins are one of my treasures.
A wooden box with a small brass hook-latch, that originally housed a fine cognac. Filled with coins. I still occasionally add to this quaint collection of mostly U.S.-minted legal tender.
Each Object unique, each with its own story.
I will be frowned upon for this, but I care not a whit about preservation of mint condition, in the proper manner of a numismatist. I enjoy handling them. Re-examining them. I'm apt to pull out one or two specimens and carry them around or play with them on my desk.
Silver dollars. Buffalo nickels, Mercury dimes.
A penny (sorry, a cent) that is 100 years older than me -- an 1857 Flying Eagle.
Eventually, I will die, and someone will have occasion to open the box.
There is a non-zero chance that the wooden box will come into the possession of someone who understands the value of these collector's items, who will sell them for a tidy profit.
There is a non-zero chance that the wooden box is, instead, found by an appropriately aged child -- the bulk of its contents were hoarded by me starting at the age of 8 -- who inherits the spirit of the box. Understands the tactile connection to the past.
Or the box is never opened, and becomes a part of the disposal chain of events after my demise.
I know I should write a will.
But the idea of the random selection is appealing.