my passion for shopping thrift

Essential check list: 1 bottle of cold water, 1 wire-form, flip-open standup laundry bag, cash money, checkbook & good attitude.

Destination: Favorite thrift shop

Crossing my fingers for a 50-cent-an-item day.

Yup - today was the day :)

If you shop thrift, you already know that the key to finding treasure is good luck. But, visit a thrift often and skill adds to the luck. Knowing the layout & inventory of a thrift store helps me organize my shopping. Because I buy to sell, I immediately head to the area of thrift where I am most likely to make a profit for my day’s work. Straight to the dresses, jewelry & handbags. Jackets, Sweaters and skirts next. Pants last. Shoes almost never. So, I shop in that order.

This is my best tip for thrift: Flip open that laundry bag! As you find items that look promising, toss them in your laundry bag. Don’t use valuable gathering time by examining each item before you put it in the bag. When your bag is full or you have finished shopping, take your stash to a sunny quiet area and examine all items carefully. There is no value in buying a once-gorgeous vintage dress if it is covered with stains, missing buttons or ready to disintegrate. Missing buttons, body odor, and split seams all go to my discard pile. I don’t have the time or patience to mend :) and body odor keeps coming back for a visit.

The following is my lucky list for good karma at thrift — which I don’t always follow as carefully as I should.

Remember to return every discarded item to where it was originally found — folded or back on a hanger.

°Never ask for a discount. Thrifts are usually non-profits.

°When possible round UP the amount due.

°Let other shoppers with fewer items check out first.

° If another shopper admires an item in my pile, I give them the item. Good karma. (This is my way of proving that an item doesn’t own me.)

Well, today’s laundry bag delivered a Dana Buchman 3-piece, reversible, evening pantsuit. A French designer ooak tunic with a stove pipe collar. A full-length designer dress by Yeohlee , a Vera Bradley bag, sequins, shoes made in the U.S.A. and 30 items of clothing for $24 — more inventory for my jumble of used merchandise selling at incognitoinmaine.etsy.com and in local shops in western Maine.

Driving my Thursday paper route is a job that I enjoy. Hadn’t planned on having a paper route. I needed money and the job was available. So, for three hours every Thursday morning, I drive through the small towns of Waterford, Stoneham, Harrison and Bridgton stopping at small stores to deliver bundles of our local, weekly newspaper and collecting money from the last week's sales.

For the most part, my “stops” are at small, locally-owned stores. My route does not make money. Sometimes (rarely) a store will sell just one 60-cent paper in a week. Not a big "take" considering the price of gas :) But — small, local businesses are a community lifeline in rural Maine, and we report to this community. Weddings & birth announcements, town meetings, local sports news, dueling columnists, obituaries and police reports find their way into these older stores that smell of coffee and bacon & eggs in the early morning — The stores with tilting floors and with walls that have never seen plumb. Pizza signs out front. Rickety picnic tables waiting for guests. The woman behind the counter that announces; “The paper lady is here.” (I love that!)

We should like our jobs. With that in mind, I listen to public radio for the entire 3 hours of my route. I keep my attention on my driving, and I am alert for anything that might surprise me.

I’m a memory collector. And, don’t you know — first time out delivering papers — driving down the back roads — early spring, not many leaves on the trees; I see several large brown mounds in a farm field. Not boulders, but placed around the field in a similar way. They moved. Buffalo! (Actually, Bison is the proper word. The words are used interchangeably, but real Buffalo live in Asia and Africa. Who would expect to find either in rural Maine?) The small store half a mile down the road sells bison burgers. Here was the living animal. It was my first surprise. I had to wait a full year to see them again in the same field. Both times were exciting. Yup, I'm keeping this job.

With a smile from Maine, karen
selling a jumble of used merchandise at incognitoinmaine.etsy.com

Oops, forgot the picture of the italian pottery for my last entry. :) karen

a jumble of used merchandise at incognitoinmaine.etsy.com

regal lady, mysterious man & italian pottery

It was twenty five years ago. We stood facing each other with a wide work counter between us. She was probably in her 80’s. Her hair was the color of spun copper. She was regal and in control. She had belongings to sell (the consignor), and my job was to price her belongings (the consignee). She stood at the counter and looked directly into my eyes. I loved her in a flash.

That day, the store was full of curious shoppers all milling around waiting for my copper-haired, regal customer to open her boxes. I began my inner chants: Please give me the knowledge to price her items correctly. If the contents of the box are worthless, please give me the words to tell her that each item has a value that can’t be measured in dollars or in this type of store. Please don’t let her be an impossible dragon queen.

A younger man accompanied her. He stood with his arms folded across his chest and never spoke. The mysterious man. Maybe he was her driver, maybe her son. Instinctively, I pushed him out of my line of vision. He was not part of the transaction. He was a “watcher.” I see him standing off to her right. He was not regal.

She explained to me that her husband had died; she needed to sell some of her personal belongings. The process of pricing began. She was prepared to sell her memories. She cried each time she brought an item out of the box. Every item immaculate and in perfect condition. At one point, she unwrapped two large, colorful, hand painted pottery pitchers. Her honeymoon had been in Italy. The pitchers were purchased on that trip.

(He stood there saying nothing.)

Already loving this woman, I also loved her pottery. The moral & practical dilemma for me was — You shouldn't price an item you love, especially if you feel connected to the consignor. I took the pitchers to the owner of the store and asked for a price. The response from the “back room” was $12.00 a piece. When my client left the store, I instantly purchased both pitchers. I own very few possessions from twenty five years ago, but the pitchers are still with me. I favor the one with the polka dots, but they are more appealing as a couple.

She came into the store one or two more times, and he was always with her. She always cried as we established prices for her possessions.

He may have loved her. He might have been her son.....But, at that time, I didn’t hold out any hope he would later offer soothing words to her or give her a gentle pat on her shoulder.

They will always be “her” pitchers. I bought them for her memories and kept the memories as my own. I look at these pitchers everyday and see a tiny, regal, copper-haired woman looking straight into my eyes.*

*My memory of this consignment has probably evolved over time. There is, almost always, another story behind each transaction in the antique business — He might have been the perfect son. She might have been a dragon queen. She could have been playing me. She probably was playing me. The pitchers might not have belonged to her. She may never been married. But — the pottery pitchers are still with me. Something happened over that consignment counter between the regal lady and my self. The pitchers hold the secrets. Maybe they were made in Portugal.

With a smile, incognitoinmaine www.incognitoinmaine.etsy.com