Friday, April 20, 2012

Garage Sale Find of the Century

By 7:15 yesterday morning, I was ready for a re-do. The day was off to a gloomy start. So I set out to do what I should really do more often - I cut a new groove. A happier one.

Exhibit A:


French Toast made with cinnamon swirl bread topped with strawberries. And Earl Grey tea.
Please help me make sense of the fact that I have never had Earl Grey tea before yesterday. It just doesn't make sense to me. Oh, the blossoming love I have for Earl Grey. It was just right. Or maybe I'm just feeling extra British over the recent hours Cory and I have spent immersed in Downton.

I have a crush on Mr. Bates. I like how he always looks like he's smirking, even when he's sad.

I also have a crush on Earl, but you already knew that.


Exhibit B:


Sparkly shoes. I dug 'em out. Like I meant it. I put the suckahs on like it was 2003. So what if my pants were too long and my right pinkie toe is now Siamese twins with his neighbor.

Ruby was instantly overcome with sequins envy. Little did I know that they would foreshadow the rest of my morning because.....

Yesterday marked the start of the town-wide garage sale. And I hit the Mother Load at the third stop: A bag of vintage linen calendar towels for uno buckaroolio. I confirmed that it was $1 for the whole bag and I ran. I didn't count them. I didn't even peek through the stack.

For the rest of the morning I thought fondly about the moment after my kids were tucked away for quiet time and I could see exactly what it was that I had in my hot hands. Because the oddest part about it all is that I've never owned a calendar towel nor had the desire to do so.

Long story short, the guy came to clean the carpets and quiet time never really happened and I rummaged through the stack of TWENTY THREE towels on the (carpeted, naturally) breeze-way floor.

I'm still a bit conflicted over what I found.

It was nothing but wonderful that the first towel on the stack hailed from 1976, the year from which every good and perfect thing hails.

Then it started to freak me out that I am fully entrenched in a 1976's color palette for our future home. It felt so wrong that it's wrong. But dang it if I can't quit that robiny blue with the mossy green with the orange with the gold.

What do you think the builder would say if I requested harvest gold counter tops and avocado appliances?

1977? You're a little dreamy.  If I said you had a beautiful bellows would you hold it against me?


1978, I'll dream only of you tonight.
Also, thanks for Cory.

1974, you make me want to believe in red again. 

I marveled over the way I seem to have come full circle in this, my 35th year.

So if you happen to be 29 right now, right here is your future. It's no late-70s, but it could be worse.

Exhibit C:

Worse.

A note to future historians: This rental house was wall-papered in 1987. No two ways.

What I'm really wondering is, how did these things even get started?

"Hello, I'm calling to see if you could bring a mock apple pie to the pitch-in on Sunday evening."
"I don't know, let me check my towel."

In the end, not every towel was a keeper. And I'm just going to put this right out there: If the day comes that any among us is found considering a teddy bear motif or a baby-blue and mauve color scheme, the offender must be promptly dipped in honey, rolled in acrylic "fur" and sponge painted and/or stenciled to within an inch of his/her life.

This concludes my exhaustive lecture series on indigenous hippie textiles of Midwestern America, circa 1974-1988.

What's your most exciting garage sale score?

ps - Mad, mad props to homegirl Angie, who secured our third bar stool! The stars have aligned and next week, we'll meet for the very first time over chips and salsa to make the hand-off. I love this world we live in. That is all. I have a date with Mr. Bates.