Secondhand Rose

If you’re friends with me on Facebook you’ve seen one of my two recent secondhand scores, a gorgeous orange/red hat that I bought in Lodi for six-and-a-half bucks.  Did I need another hat?  Of course not.  Would I have paid the marked-price of $15.00 for it?  Yup.  The sale price surprised and delighted me.  I’m a simple person, with humble tastes, and I like a bargain.

For the rest of the day, I ruminated — off and on, amidst a busy Saturday — about my proclivity for used clothing, housewares, and the like.  I do not actually recall wearing clothes purchased at thrift stores until high school but I certainly got castoffs from my older sisters and my cousins.  Once I started buying for myself, I discovered the cost-saving benefit of building a wardrobe from consignment shops. 

I’ve had people in my life who turned their noses at my shopping habits.  But I persist.  My mother once remarked that everything is used when it leaves a store.  That made sense to me.  As time passes, I find that in many cases, used furniture is made from better materials; and that I can pay less for natural-fiber clothing that other people purchased new at full price.  Maybe I’m out of style, a season behind my peers.  In reality, I don’t care, and nobody much looks at the way I dress these days.

When I got home yesterday, I offloaded more plants for the community garden then drove around to my house.  I realized that my joints had begun to ache with a fierce rage, protesting my trips to the post office, Lodi House Thrift, Sprouts, and Hollanddutch Nursery.   Clutching a tin mug of cold water, I stood on my porch contemplating the foot-high grass and wondering where I could find someone to clear my lot.  A few minutes later, I went inside, hung my new hat on a peg, and made lunch.  Sitting in the quiet of my little home, I remembered my dad calling me his secondhand Rose, with Barbra Streisand’s album playing in the background.  I closed my eyes against a sudden swell of tears.    After a few minutes, I pushed aside my plate, stood, and began my afternoon chores.  As I worked, a swell of music in my head took me back to one of the few sweet memories that I have of my father.

It’s the twenty-second day of the one-hundred and twelfth month of My Year Without Complaining.  Life continues.

Hear Barbra Streisand Sing “Secondhand Rose”


A video about my other secondhand score at Lodi  House Thrift yesterday!  Please ‘like’ and ‘comment’ on my video to let me know you stopped by!

To visit my online shop, purchase my book, and learn about this month’s charity, click here.

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