I trudged through the foot-high snow drifts last week to visit the Salvation Army on Grand Avenue. This is an iffy store. It’s the flagship Sally store, and has a little “antique boutique” on the second floor, where they secret away all of the really cool old stuff that people donate and mark them at ridiculous prices. Really, really ridiculous prices. I’ve seen stuff sit in there on the shelves for YEARS because they’ve marked it too high to sell. I used to think it would just be wasting time to shop there because they just take the good stuff to the boutique, but I’ve found some super-cool stuff there before. This was a pretty good visit.
Metal picnic baskets. Vintage Risk game board. Mortar and Pestle. Odd, old, enamel vase. Homemade Tin Man! How cute! The feet are sardine cans! Kind of folk-artish.
I have a theory that I would like to run by you. I think there is a physiological reaction that occurs when I find a really great thrift find: endorphins and adrenaline flood my body and suddenly EVERYTHING looks like an really great thrift find. I leave the store with bags full of stuff and eagerly unpack it back at home and…I can’t figure out what I was so excited about. So I tried to be aware of that today when I started throwing stuff in my basket willy-nilly. The first step of recovery is admitting you have a problem.
by Lara Jo
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