Confessions of a Garage Sale Junkie

The morning air is crisp.  Oddly enough, I can actually see my breath, unusual in the moderate climate of Southern California.  But it's early.  The birds chirp.  A dog barks.  I look down the street and see a cat performing a balancing act on a fence.  A car door.  Slams.  I deposit the boxes in the trunk of the car and slam the lid, then cross to the driver side door and get in.  I start the car.  I rev the engine, simply because I can.

First stop: Starbucks.  Must have my Venti-upside-down-caramel-macchiato-with-extra-caramel... hot today, but not always.  Add the Blueberry-muffin-with-struesel.  Now I'm ready.

 Consult The List.  Formerly a printed sheet of paper, in the interest of saving time and money The List is now emailed to The Blackberry.

The List gives me my first destination.  My blood pumps.  My heart races. My eyes light up with the anticipation of the day.  I am...

The Treasure Hunter.

I feel a bit like Indiana Jones on these mornings, mornings where I escape the confines of home and family and venture into the unexplored territories of estate and garage sales.  The most exciting are those with a mountain of boxes through which I must dig and search, carefully extracting a rare artifact from the bottom of a cardboard box filled with ratty decks of cards, unwanted plush toys and old silverware.  It is at these sales that I can get a great find for an even better price, as the curators of these excavation sites usually don't care about price and simply want to remove the artifacts from the premises.

Now that I have a vintage shop where I peddle my treasures, it is imperative to embark on these adventures each week.  Right now it is just Saturdays with a few thrift store excursions sprinkled here and there.  Perhaps as business increases I will add Fridays or Sundays to my shopping days.

I don't know how I'll ever manage....

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