When I moved to my new place last spring, I had to buy some basic household necessities. In the process of combining households with my sweetheart in 2012, duplicates were eliminated and choices were made based on quality and level of attachment. We used my guy’s garlic press (an easy to clean, ergonomically designed OXO model) and kept my teakettle because it was a gift from a good friend of mine.

After we decided to separate, we came up with a financial plan and an agreement on household items. Many things just stayed with the house we shared. Some items just seemed to go with the place or didn’t seem worth the trouble of moving. In making myself feel at home at my new address, many trips, bar coded coupons in my sweaty fist, were made to Target and Bed, Bath, and Beyond.

Buying some items required little thought. (Come on. Are there any significant options on a paper towel dispenser?) I deferred buying some items until I found exactly what I was looking for (like the right colored towels for the bathroom).

I was surprised that finding a set of salt and pepper shakers I liked was such a challenge.

My first inclination was to buy a uni-shaker, a modern Plexiglas design where peppercorns would be loaded on the bottom and granular salt on the top. The peppercorns would be ground by turning the top third of the device and the salt would just pour out through the six holes in the metal top. Or, at least, I thought that’s how it was supposed to work.

I turned the damn thing upside down, shook it up and down and no salt came out. I took it apart and stuck the ends of toothpicks in the holes to make sure they were clear. I placed a couple grains of rice in the top chamber to guard against humidity gumming up the works. (I read this tip somewhere). Still, nothing came out.

I studied the metal holes on the top of my shaker. Certainly a tiny, tiny grain of salt should be able to pass through, I thought, but after scrambling up eggs and mashing up a pot o’ spuds and shaking my heart out, no sodium chloride imparted its usual brightness and flavor to what I prepared.

After several weeks, I gave up. I used the device as a pepper mill but found myself reaching for the navy blue cylindrical container with the girl holding the umbrella any time I wanted salt. I’d pour some into my hand and flick maybe a quarter teaspoon into whatever was on my stovetop; a very inexact way to season things. Unable to pour excess salt back into the container, I poured a lot of salt, followed quickly by hot tap water, down the drain.

The other week, at Homegoods or BB&B, I saw a set of shakers I thought would work; a pair of white owls of some sort of ceramic material. Not too big, nor too small. Not flimsy, but not expensive. I bought the set, eager to fill them and test them in my kitchen.

I should have known something was amiss based on how hard they were to fill. When I turned the saltshaker over, pulling out the little plastic plug at the bottom, and tried to fill it with salt, the salt just ran out of the three holes at the top. I thought I was being clever by placing Scotch tape over the holes while I filled it, but I replicated the problem once took the tape off and held the shaker over a plate of food. The holes were so big, salt just poured out.

I had to laugh at myself. I got caught up thinking that I could easily identify a device that would provide the perfect pour.

I thought about Goldie Locks sampling porridge and testing out the firmness of the beds at the home of the three bears. She always seemed to find things too something before declaring something suited her.

Maybe coming across something that is perfect, and believing you will know at first sight, is just an ideal. Even when it comes to finding a perfectly pouring saltshaker, some experimentation is in order.

Being willing to find your heart’s desire through trial and error is no small thing.