Poetry of the Unwanted

I love wandering around on Saturday mornings, stopping at moving and garage and yard sales!

I've always thought of it as a bit poetic, "words" of what the former owners wanted scattered randomly on tables. This morning, I found an assortment of perfectly wonderful things, the whole bill totaling $21 at one sale, $8 at another:

Picture frames and wrapping paper in its original cellophane; a name-brand red and white polka dot raincoat for a dollar, a white shell-shaped chip and dip bowl from Italy for another dollar, a lamp, a bowl with 1948 on the bottom (my birth year), measuring cups and salt shakers, a silk scarf that's probably not real silk but pretty, books for Elena, an ice cream container with a blue top, and a brand new Guatemalan belt for two dollars.  I haven't unpacked it all.   There will be other surprises I'll find in my car after my nap.

Unlike clerks at stores who have no connection to their wares, sellers of their own stuff often say, "Oh, I'm so glad you're getting this!" or "I've had this for thirty years and have to let it go when we move."   Other customers see me trying on the polka dot raincoat and say, "If you decide not to buy that, I want it."

Freda and I are going to see Far From the Madding Crowd at six.  And Kate may stop by after a poetry reading and I can show her my finds.  Saturdays in the spring and summer are lovely days of discovery and play! I feel like a child on Saturdays.  School is out.  The possibilities are endless.