I go to one of two (or sometimes, both) very nearby Goodwills every other saturday, when the whole store is fifty percent off. I admit to preferring to thrift in quiet, on weekday evenings when I'm the only customer in the store, for example, and I can lose myself and my tiring everyday thoughts in the racks I slowly scan for treasure. But I can't deny the extra thrill of finding My New Favorite ________ (which maybe I didn't even know I needed, but as soon as I spy it I wonder how I ever lived without?) for half off.
The first thing I do every morning is to set the kettle on the stove for tea. I look forward to my first cup of tea in the morning before I even go to bed at night. Yeah, sure, the caffeine boost is swell. I don't remember what adequate sleep feels like so I'll take whatever help I can get. But it's more than that. It's the whistling of my kettle, it's the steam, the smell of the tea in the cannister when I take off the lid. It's an important anchor in my day, a simple ritual of Beginning. And I am very particular about which mugs I will use. Oh, in a pinch, I'll use whatever is clean. And if I'm having a cup of herbal tea before bed, any cup or mug will do, it doesn't matter. I have several I rotate through and they've served me well over the years. I wasn't looking for a new one. But last Saturday, I found my New Favorite Teacup. It's surprisingly sturdy, slightly oversized, lovely to look at (bird graphic, hello!), and it has a lid! Secondhand perfection for a dollar.
let me count the ways:
I love the maroon tweedy sofa we bought to sit on when we watch tv. We have another room with a big, leather couch and a comfy chair for sitting which we use for talking and reading and living. But this room is where the girl watches Zoom and library documentaries and where the husband snores along to seinfeld at night and where I sit with hot tea and watch movies from my netflix queue.
I don't know what I'd do if I had to limit my acquisitions to the retail world.
My grandfather spends his spare time roaming the hills of New Mexico with his metal detector. So, it seems, that I come by my predilection for rusty scraps and otherwise useless but interesting items naturally. When I visit my grandparents, I never know what I will find lying about.
