Finders Keepers

After standing in a few feet of mucky pond water cutting water lilies with roots a foot thick, I sat itching my poison ivy, proud of the job I’d finished.  Before I could start another project, I determined to reward myself.  Time to go thrifting!

As I drove I daydreamed about getting a job sorting junk.  I imagined being the only one to recognize the value of the stuff as it is being unpacked, and casually setting it aside for myself, not letting on to the thrill I’m having.  This is not a dollar value I am talking about.  More like the pleasure value.  The sheer pleasure a little piece of someone else’s discarded stuff can bring.  I pull up and park my car along the busy road.  Everyone is driving past this place.  There is plenty of parking.  Out front fruits and vegetables surround one of the owners.  Beyond him is a big sign that says, “Antiques and Stuff”.  Walking around the sign takes me to a driveway with a back parking lot with a couple of tents set up.  Behind the tents is a junkyard of old stoves, old furniture ruined by the rain, rusty bikes.  Tables are set up and off to the side, a couple of women chat in low-sitting lawn chairs.  They smoke cigarettes look bored by their surroundings.  I on the other hand am about to jump out of my skin with excitement.  I try to look casual as I start to browse through a big box of fabric and discover it’s not priced.  One more reason they need me in a place like this, I think.  I inquire about things not being marked, and she tells me to make an offer, claiming to accept anything reasonable.  Reasonable offer depends completely on where you are.  So I hold up a hefty hunk of fabric and say, “a buck?”  She agrees.  Now I know I can have some fun here.  I keep staring at the fabric feeling all giddy and wondering what it reminds me of.  I can’t decide if it will be a skirt, or a tablecloth, but it is a perfect start.

I find some wonderful vintage aprons.  I have decided I collect these now. I so appreciate the fifties, when women kept home like it was the highest and classiest calling.  According to the advertisements, they even wore pumps when they vacuumed.  Although I have to admit, my mom was the poster fifties mom, and I don’t remember seeing her in pumps.  Or even these aprons for that matter! But they have such a whimsical way of making me want to cook a turkey, or bake a pie.

I move back under the tent.  I am overwhelmed. There is just too much good junk here, too much to see.  I try to stop and fix my eyes on a small area and just take in what is in a few foot radius; wooden spoons, glasses, dish sets, and I spy a box on the ground under the table with a bit of blue peeking out. 

Score! Blue jars; six of them.  I rush over to the lady with my find and stacked it with my other things.  Then it was indoors to see the three floors.  Actually the basement was full but off limits.  However the owner told me to come back on Monday mornings and help sort it out. I may just have to do that.  Meanwhile, I found a great old tea canister, and a groovy bottle stopper, and a basket on the way out to carry everything in.

Then it was off to Salvation Army.  I haven’t been to the one here yet, and it has been calling me for a couple weeks.  I hit the jackpot with these sweet little curtains.  I also saw a couple nice white pillow shams and have kicked myself repeatedly for not grabbing them.

Well, all the goodies have found a home, except the fabric.  It’s too nice out to sew. I guess it will keep for a rainy day.  Until next time….