I've returned from the land of Kliban cat sheets and Moomins, moldy-oldie books and boxes of ancient correspondence, with little to show for it in terms of vintage scores and finds, which is too bad since that's the subject of this here blog. I even managed to hit the usual thrift stops without my distracting, demanding kids in tow and still, somehow came away empty-handed, save for an armload of kid books—how did that happen?? My head was obviously not in the game. The second weekend there was a city-wide garage sale in the old hometown and I did not hit a single one. My parents did the early-bird circuit on Friday and I slept right through it. Weird.
Perhaps I figured I'd already spent enough money in NYC, on haircuts and pretty dresses. Or maybe my acquisitive compulsion was satisfied by a nostalgia trip to my parents' storage units on Day One. As we speak, three boxes containing my childhood detritus (as well as some cute pottery) are wending their way via the USPS from rural NJ to exburby TX. I will share those objects as soon as I get around to uploading my vacay photos. Till then, make do with a few images of my parents' house, and you'll get why sometimes thrifting is totally unnecessary.
No comments:
Post a Comment