Earlier this week I got out for about an hour in the evening to do some thrifting. It was a clear, rare night with a bright moon and not a breathe of a breeze; a night for walking briskly and savouring the air. I could feel good thrift karma in my bones, and I was right. Besides picking up a much needed bedside table (in need of refinishing, but nonetheless...) and an little electronic piano for Safiya (sweet!), I quivered with excitement as upon beholding six volumes of this thrift gold:
As I snapped up all six volumes, why I looked over my shoulder to see if anyone else was going to grab these books is beyond me. You know that a grown daughter was helping her mother clean out an attic or closet or something and saw these and send "Honestly mother, when are you ever going to use these? They're so out of date" and I thank that woman from the bottom of my heart. I had to hail a taxi to get it all home, but my heart was singing. (I'll share pics of some of the goodness inside in a later post.)
One could be forgiven for thinking that thrifting brings out the eco-conscious simple-living hippie in me, but it's the opposite. It brings out the (lusting vicious) hunter and the (hoarder) gatherer. The only thing that saves me is the other voice, the stern frugal Mennonite voice (sometimes it's very loud) that questions whether I - really - need - another piece of Pyrex?
One could also be forgiven for having the same reaction as our realtor when she saw my excitement about the fact that the house under consideration (now our very own) had a Value Village right around the corner?