Old Times

I picked up my Senior and headed toward the center, to see what deals we could find at the local Senior Center yard sale.    One destination is not the way we roll though.  It’s about the journey. So, when we found another yard sale along the way, we had to stop.  That’s how my eighty-one year old mother and I roll.  It’s called free stylin’.

Free as birds on another Saturday morning, we did look stylin’.  This start and stop yard sale routine was how we found the best deals or drove up to bargains we otherwise would not have found.  And if you know my mother, she has been able to barter her way down to ‘free’ on several occasions.

While our first stop wasn’t lucrative for her, I did spend two bucks and get a  wooden checkerboard game and a first edition Little Black Sambo for my collection.  The woman that sold them to us thought she was just transitioning from home daycare to Corporate America.  What I knew was that her home daycare had this vintage golden book that was going to allow me to retire early from Corporate America.

Just up the road was the actual Senior Center.  My mother shops for all of us.  She bought me a journal for the non-offending price of twenty-five cents.  She also bought some vintage Tupperware our family will always adore, since it hails from our Shirley hometown.  Gram Pat, as she is known,  or Ms. Pat to many of the older folk, was also sly enough to score some vintage hot wheels for her grandsons.  She was out $2.50 but on the top of her game.  A majority of the time, I shop for others too.  However, this mornin’ I was evidently out for myself and loaded the trunk with pottery, a sewing kit and some M*A*S*H flash cards.

As we started to climb into the car, we heard the ladies next to us discussing Chestnut.  Savvy enough to know they were out of season, we asked if we could follow them to the yard sale they seemed to know about on Chestnut Street.  This pottery nut scored her first perfect condition Roseville for the mantle.  While Mom didn’t find anything, she also knows that like a walk being as good as a run in baseball, a referral is as good as a purchase.  The owners sent us on our way toward another yard sale on Sunnyhill Road.  It was a sunny hill that we did climb to the summit.  We came down in all our glory with homemade paper and some hostess pieces for my mother-in-laws new china.

I love our mornings together and not knowing where we will end up.  I love that my mother has thirty-five years on me and styles better than the rest of us.  She has often opened her door to view a table before I’ve even come to a full stop.  She knows the true value of a coin and a bargain when she sees one.  They are journeys that only cost me a few bucks, the company and entertainment is free and the time spent is priceless.

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