I have an undeniable obsession
with thrift-stores. Seriously.
It's a part of my weekend routine, not that I really have a weekend routine, since I usually end up doing the unknown on dearest Saturday and Sunday's, but once I get my humble amount of a pay-check, thrifting is the first thing I think about and usually end up doing.
So, what exactly is it about thrift-stores that I find so sweetly addicting? All of it, I guess. Of course, the bargained part of it is one. You can get the most amazing things--clothes, shoes, jewelry, books, accessories, art, all for the most nominal amount. And the uniqueness of it all, most of the items found are one-of-a-kind around. but beyond that, beyond the obvious central reasons, something I find absolutely fascinating, (which others in their right minds may find odd) -- the mystery. The mystery of it all. Knowing that those items which you're dazing off into once belonged to someone. A stranger, someone you've possibly encountered before, someone with a story to tell, or a story left behind.
I found a book once, and inside it was a squiggly, slightly visible note. It went somewhere along the lines of "you are worth much more than you'll ever know, my love." It was signed and dated, Thomas 1972. I didn't end up getting the book, I can't recall the reason why. But I wonder, who was this Thomas? Who was his love? and did he or she feel worthless? And where may that book be now? In a dusty book shelf under the ownership of some other unknown Thomas, perhaps? Is that note still there? What if someone tore the page, shredded it. Accidentally spilled apple juice on it...blurring each sentence to the point of obsolete. It's silly, I'll never know the answer to these questions.
I carry the mystery of that page, and the lives behind it.
The lives behind it...they'll never know this. They'll never know, would they ever have thought, even now would it cross their minds, if it's possible, that some 19 year old stranger would be mentioning them in a blog post? Wondering about them?
One day, in my old age, if I live to be...I'll donate my old books, my favorite dresses, my capsuled spectacles--and the stories, and the moments, and the bits of me along with them. And hope that at least one of those items end up in the sight, own, and mind of
some alluring blog posting stranger.
So, what exactly is it about thrift-stores that I find so sweetly addicting? All of it, I guess. Of course, the bargained part of it is one. You can get the most amazing things--clothes, shoes, jewelry, books, accessories, art, all for the most nominal amount. And the uniqueness of it all, most of the items found are one-of-a-kind around. but beyond that, beyond the obvious central reasons, something I find absolutely fascinating, (which others in their right minds may find odd) -- the mystery. The mystery of it all. Knowing that those items which you're dazing off into once belonged to someone. A stranger, someone you've possibly encountered before, someone with a story to tell, or a story left behind.
I found a book once, and inside it was a squiggly, slightly visible note. It went somewhere along the lines of "you are worth much more than you'll ever know, my love." It was signed and dated, Thomas 1972. I didn't end up getting the book, I can't recall the reason why. But I wonder, who was this Thomas? Who was his love? and did he or she feel worthless? And where may that book be now? In a dusty book shelf under the ownership of some other unknown Thomas, perhaps? Is that note still there? What if someone tore the page, shredded it. Accidentally spilled apple juice on it...blurring each sentence to the point of obsolete. It's silly, I'll never know the answer to these questions.
I carry the mystery of that page, and the lives behind it.
The lives behind it...they'll never know this. They'll never know, would they ever have thought, even now would it cross their minds, if it's possible, that some 19 year old stranger would be mentioning them in a blog post? Wondering about them?
One day, in my old age, if I live to be...I'll donate my old books, my favorite dresses, my capsuled spectacles--and the stories, and the moments, and the bits of me along with them. And hope that at least one of those items end up in the sight, own, and mind of
some alluring blog posting stranger.
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