I love, love, love when I go to a thrift store and there is something–something just sitting there waiting for me. Something that makes my heart beat faster. That makes me gasp a little, and then almost (almost) consider licking whatever it is like that guy in that car commercial.
It’s especially gratifying when that happens here, in this teensy town. Because I make the rounds every week of our three little thrift stores (one benefits disabled adults, one benefits kids, and one benefits stray animals.) And often I leave with nothing.
Today I found a box filled–filled!–with 1950s aprons.
Twenty-seven of them.
There they are hanging on my laundry room lines in the late afternoon sun after a careful wash. You can’t really tell in this picture, but I have 4 lines in my laundry room, and all of them are filled with apron loveliness.
They are glorious. Delicately beautiful. Not perfect, because they are obviously well loved. They’ve seen 50 years of dishes washed and meals served. I love each and every one of them. Ruby keeps going to the laundry room and playing under them, laughing at their bright colors in the sunshine coming through the window.
I’ll be selling some of them in my Etsy store.
If I can bring myself to part with them that is.