Confessions of a Second Hand Junkie
BY SYDNEY LANDER
My name is Syd, and I'm a shopaholic. My purchasing addiction defies the urban myth that all women suffer from mall dependency. I hate malls. I am addicted to pre-owned merchandise. My friends tell me I am the only person who can tell you the name and location of a thrift shop in any city I've visited. Almost all my treasures are recycled.
I spell heaven: G-A-R-A-G-E S-A-L-E or F-L-E-A M-A-R-K-E-T or even A-U-C-T-I-O-N. I'm on a first name basis with the owners of most second-time-around shops in the area.
Just what is the attraction of someone else's junk? I tell David it's budgetary; this satisfies his frugality. I can get four or five used outfits for the price of a new one, including ones for which I would never pay the "new" price. People with money to burn must buy clothes, wear them a few times, and take them to thrift shops. I am the beneficiary.
Not everyone is willing to shop in the places I haunt, but they weren't raised with a "new-to-me" attitude. My dad was a minister, and for my formative years we lived in an Indian village north of the Arctic Circle. Churches in the "lower 48" would send us barrels of used clothing to distribute to the villagers. We girls were villagers too. My sisters and I got to shop in the mission barrels.
When it comes to other pre-owned items, I can't blame my mission's upbringing. I like unusual things. What you find at the mall is "cookie cutter" merchandise. You can go into almost any home and find similar, if not identical, stuff. Unique things can be found in malls, but these exclusive items come with prices that exceed my budget.
On the other hand, at flea markets, garage sales, hole-in-the-wall junk shops, and auctions, you can often find limited edition stuff at reasonable prices. If you want to become a connoisseur of the pre-owned on a limited budget, you probably should avoid shops with the word antique in the title. Antique by definition means something that is at least 25 years old. Generally the shop owner thinks it is rare and worth its weight in gold.
I don't completely avoid antique shops. I go in to get ideas of what to look for elsewhere. Every once in a while, the owner will have something exquisite that he'll let go at my price, just because it's been there so long that it's becoming an antique while in the shop.
I am not the only queen of the thrift scene. My younger sister, Joni, has the same genetic flaw. When she and I get together in a thrift shop, we go wild. The savings then become imaginary.
When Joni lived in Oregon, I flew in to visit her for a couple of days. When it was time for me to return home, we left early for Portland so we had time to make a stop (translation – several hours) at the Red White and Blue Store, a huge thrift shop where everything was under $2. There were no fitting rooms because the prices were so low. After Joni and I filled several buggies with possibilities, we bought them, knowing that what wouldn't fit one would probably fit the other. She was a size or so smaller than I.
When we got to the airport, we went in the bathroom and began trying on clothes to see who got to take home what. The other patrons thought we were ding-bats, because we kept coming out of our stalls to model our latest finds and to trade stuff that was too tight or too loose, as the case might be.
I eventually got on the plane carrying a huge Neiman Marcus shopping bag filled with a new-to-me wardrobe purchased at the Red White and Blue Store for around $25. The bag was a nice touch. The thrift store recycles bags and just happened to give us one that made me look like I'd been doing some high-priced shopping.
Joni's husband says when she dies, he'll just call the Salvation Army and say, "Come get your stuff."
Avid pre-owned junkies often have to deal with such ridicule from their families. When my boys were teens, we lived down the street from a thrift store. They informed me early on that under no circumstance was I to be seen exiting the shop when the school bus might be passing. I'm fairly certain they weren't trying to keep all their friends from shopping there and buying up all the used Gap jeans.
Part of the addiction is in the hunt. I love looking for something that is just different enough to meet my tastes. I also enjoy acting as purchasing agent for others. When I garage-saled every Saturday during the summer, my friends would give me lists of things to look for, because they wanted the bargains but weren't into the hunt. Once it's in your blood, though, you're lost. You will need a bumper sticker stating, "Caution, this vehicle brakes for garage sales."
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Faith smiled. When she got past the teen angst stage, she had learned to enjoy Mama's passion. "My Rav needs one of those stickers, Mama."
As Faith sorted through the vests, putting aside the embroidered ones and the various blue jean designs for her own wardrobe, the phone rang. She was ready for an interruption.
"Hey, Twerp," Zach said. "Any progress on the wedding front?"
"Well, we are talking again."
"So is my plane ticket going to be a waste?"
"No matter what happens, it won't be a waste, Bo-Zach. You'll get to see me either way."
"Well," he drawled the word. "I suppose, but I'm in Brasilia, and I found this awesome tux. I'll have no need of a tux in the jungle. Will I be wasting my hard-earned funds if I buy it to wear to your wedding?"
"Zach! You're pressuring me."
"Somebody needs to, Hon. And since I'm far enough away that you can't maim me, I drew the short straw."
"You and Josh have been discussing my private life. I resent that."
"You told me to get the story from him, remember?"
"Ok, so I did, but that doesn't give you permission to meddle."
"Brother and meddler are synonymous. You know that, Lil Faithy."
"Well, I'm revoking your meddling license."
"I tell you what. We'll finish this conversation and then I'll voluntarily turn in my license."
"Don't make promises you can't keep."
"Okay. So I won't turn it in. Tell me this, Faith. If you found out that I'd done something that violated your standards, would you disown me?"
"Of course not. You're my brother."
"Is brotherly love stronger than spousal love?"
"No, but spousal love implies a marriage. Aaron and I aren't married, just engaged."
"So saying wedding vows strengthens love?"
"I don't know. You're confusing me."
"Would you say that Mama's love for Daddy was stronger than brotherly love?"
"Umm," Faith paused in thought. "As strong, but not stronger – different, I guess."
"So what made their love strong?"
"Commitment, I think. Mama told Aaron that what strengthens marital love is the commitment they make to each other when they say their wedding vows. She told him the promise to love has to include a promise to forgive because all married people betray their vows, at least figuratively if not physically."
"So Mama would tell you to marry him only if you were willing to commit to love him even if he betrayed your love."
"Yes."
"Do you love him enough to forgive him?"
"That's what I'm trying to figure out, Zach."
"Here's my meddling brotherly advice. If you loved him enough to marry him before you found out he paid to abort a child, then you love him enough to marry him now. Forgiveness is a choice. God chose to forgive you, even though you broke His heart."
"I know it's a choice, Zach. I even think it's a choice I'm going to make, but I'm not ready yet. Aaron and I are working on revival of trust."
Zach seemingly changed the subject.
"Josh said you're reading a journal Mama wrote chronicling her marriage."
"Yeah. It's really interesting. Did you know that Mama suffered from the baby blues?"
"So I've heard, but those aren't the only blues that overtook her. If you keep reading and she put everything in her journal, you're going to uncover some things that were harder to combat than postpartum depression."
"Like what?"
"Lots. Her warning that love must be buttressed by forgiveness came from hard-earned experience. You might find yourself faced with needing to forgive others besides Aaron. You might need his support, Faith. Let him love you."
"What do you mean, Zach?"
"Call me back after you've finished the journal. Josh said Mama told you that after you read the journal you would know if the heritage of the earrings was too weighty to carry into a fledgling relationship. That comment tells me that Mama entrusted you with the family secrets. I'm sure that she's a better storyteller than I. Keep reading, Faith, and then if you need to talk, I'll try to stay out of the jungle and within cell range."
"You're scaring me, Zach."
"I don't mean to, Lil Sis. Maybe this'll help. I'm investing in the tux. I'm betting on you."
Before Faith could phrase an answer, the line went dead.
Faith had brought the journal with her in case she needed a break. Filled with disquiet, she decided to continue her break on the sun porch with the journal.