Musings: My Deep Dark Secret

I have a deep, dark secret. It lives within me and finally I feel like it is time I shared it with you all. Take a deep breath, exhale, steady yourself and try to think of your most special memory involving me. I want you to have good thoughts of me as I make this confession.

Ready?

Here goes.

I am addicted to other people's trash. You know that saying "one man's trash is another man's treasure" ? Well, yeah, it was written with me specifically in mind.

Antiques are exquisite and eclectic and so much fun. But, they feel complicated and expensive and maybe even a tad upper crust to me. I wouldn't turn down a great antiquing jaunt, but truly that sort of exploration of someone's leftovers is beyond my scope of interest and expertise.

Estate sales are great too. Walking through the actual home where all of the castaway items lived with their now absent owner provides a huge rush. But estate sales are complicated because attending them requires a level of organization of which I have yet to achieve.

I'm more of a freestyle kind of gal. I love the impromptu thrill of driving home on a Saturday morning from a leisurely jog around the lake and spotting a day-glo scrap of poster board tacked to a wooden stake. Black markered arrows on the signs that point the way to the sale are like treasure maps to me. X marks the spot of ecstasy.

A yard full of someone else's castoffs elevates my heart rate. My pulse quickens and I feel the magnetic pull to stop my car and peruse the piles of musty books, tacky art and yellowed, mismatched Tupperware with odors that are not meant to be identified.

Near bliss can be achieved if there are clothes to dig through, especially any of the vintage variety. I have a genuine love affair with the notion that cast off clothing can tell a story. When I find interesting clothing, I immediately create the back story of why the particular piece was purchased, what the owner looked like and how the event where it was worn went down. It's truly a thrill to me.

I even love the smell that accompanies old clothes. It's not the sickening stench of mothballs, it's more of a subtle mustiness that permeates the fibers, even after being laundered at my house. It's as if the odor 's presence lingers as a constant reminder that this piece of clothing deserves a level of respect that can't be awarded to mass marketed crap that you can buy at any department store these days.

Fortunately for me, I discovered a store that caters to my secret. The clothes there are rotated on a daily basis, so I could feasibly shop there everyday and never see the same thing twice. This store also carries all sorts of other trash that easily provides hours of entertainment as you walk through and search for those certain gems and treasures you know are hidden somewhere within the piles.

This is my secret, my heaven on earth, if you will.

In coming posts, I will share stories of my experiences at the store. I have seen some pretty amazing sights as I got my "trash fix".

So, there, I've said it. I would gladly dig through your cast offs. Just be careful...you never know what story I might create about those parachute pants you once wore!