...or so it is said ( possibly by Louis Pasteur). I say possibly because you can't really trust a cheap paperback crime fiction book where the protagonist meets a girl, woos the girl, loves the girl (we are halfway in by now and zero crime so far), only to have her killed, tracks and catches the criminal (a moderately interesting couple of chapters), thence to return to wimpering over his lost love and lawyers fees for the rest of the book.
But what can you seriously expect from a book for 20c at a garage sale? Possibly the reviews on the cover were a hint...
"I loved.....this book!" (famous author's name). The exact quote was probably more like "I loved going to Paris for holidays but the plane trip was completely ruined by having to read this book". I shall, I shall, be more choosy.
A disappointing op shop Friday paled into insignificance behind an almost perfect Saturday. Weather: clear, crisp, sunny. Number of sales: not so many but enough to be going on with. Cash: check. Breakfast: maybe later.
I got this quilt first. Handmade with Indonesian fabrics, the lady said. It has a few spots which need a stitch but nothing which won't be quick and easy. A bit riotous but shows promise.
The next place had a whole houseful of furniture and accoutremonts: dangerous places, these. I did weaken for an old bookshelf, delightfully tatty but the books are beginning to pile up on the floor again. Note to self : be choosy, choosy, choosy. I will, I promise.
The next place looked distinctly... not promising.
It turned out, however, to be the depository of
possibly the last of the great grandmothers' button collections. Remember the tin, or jar, or bag of buttons you were allowed to play with? Sometimes? On a wet afternoon? This one was a cardboard carton, full of buttons, some in their original plastic test tubes, some in plastic bags, some on their original cards, and a lot loose just half filling the carton. We are talking cubic lots of buttons.
Sensible me said that I have quite a lot of old buttons. I don't need more. Where will I put them?
Sensible me was shoved rather violently out of the way by the me that just loves bunches of old buttons, pointed out that they could be squished in somewhere, and OMG aren't they fabulous. I put the loose ones in a huge clear IKEA glass vase ($2, Salvo's), in the middle of the kitchen table. Last night's dinner guests spent a happy hour playing with them, rearranging them, remembering the ones they had on their clothes as children, or their mothers did. Savouring the really, truly hideous ones.
Button collections invariably also contain interesting 'others'. In this case, the knob from a 50's stove; a rhinestone earring; a huge darning needle; and a badge, plastic, "Bank C.B.A.", as well as assorted other odds and sods.
At some stage, when everyone has had a play I will give some serious thought to how they can be used.
Light headed with excitement I did also manage to snare a lovely beaded evening bag, just a couple of tiny beads missing but quite repairable.
We pottered on to find a vacuum cleaner for my fellow treasure seeker - hers hasn't a hose and as she points out, it kinda limits its use. This one met all the vital requirements, ie it had a hose and was $20. It was also a nice shade of metallic green, which made it somehow more attractive.
We did a deal and added a bowling ball in its bag for an extra five - I think she now has bowling balls in all the primary colours. There was a moment when the mother of the woman having the sale tried to hold out for $10 for the ball, she was quickly advised by its owner that there was no need for such formality. Pausing only to loosen the seller's grip on her mother's throat, we grabbed our stuff and departed.
As I pointed out, its important to have a bowling ball to complement any outfit. In case the fashion police are having their annual bowling night.
I had just enough cash left to go get some fresh local oysters - 2 dozen , just absolutely brilliant with champagne for dinner last night.
