Sometimes You Can't See the Wood for the Trees

Sometimes in life, things become very familiar, so much so that we stop seeing them.
A year or two ago I rearranged my welsh dresser so that all my dried goods: oats, sugar, peas, beans, lentils etc were on display in storage jars. They look nice, they are to hand, I can see when I'm running out and it freed up cupboard space for less decorative items. I didn't quite have enough jars to fill the shelf so there were a couple of gaps waiting for the acquisition of suitable jars.
Yesterday, I noticed this jar at the top of the cellar steps:

I'm not quite sure how long it was been sitting there, my guess is about ten years and I'm not even sure what was in it. From the look of things when I prised the lid open, it may have been spicy orange slices. I must have passed it daily without noticing it.
It is now cleaned up and filled with butter beans and has gone to join its brethren on the shelf.

 Very like the ending to a Victorian children's book, the moral to this story is that you might already have what you want if only you have the eyes to see.