Of course, even discussing our unseasonable weather will curse us with a subzero blizzard but, I can’t help but notice that we are having April-like weather and temperatures. As I write this at 2 pm, two days after Valentine’s Day, it’s 70º F outside. A friend told me her iris are growing. I gave my apple tree a hard stare and told its buds to stay tight. We all love this weather, but it plays hell with our vegetation. That’s why when you drive 20 miles out of town, all you see is brown grass, with an occasional cottonwood tree next to a creek. The Pawnee Grasslands are a prime example of what eastern Colorado naturally looks like.
But I digress. We have been mining the bins to good effect for weeks now. It’s getting to the point that we might need two carts if I’m not careful. And I’m not the only one:
As full as this cart is, we see plenty that are piled even higher. If you find a good bin, you can fill a cart in a hurry. Over the last month, I’ve found my niece three cashmere sweaters, clothing from The Loft, and a Vera Wang dress with its tags still on. It’s hard to pass on those kinds of bargains.
But digging in the bins is not all wine and roses:
The three worst things in bins are: hangers, electrical cords, and yarn. I’ve been known to pull out my Swiss army knife and cut the cord, literally. Kathy wanted that white fence in the front of this mess. It took a bit of finagling to untangle this snag of frustration, but she did it. Things occasionally get so tortuous that it takes both of us to heave the enormous nexus of evil into the next bin over so we can ignore it and keep digging. I frequently rub my shoulder Friday evening wondering why it hurts, and then remember—oh yeah, bins.
It’s kind of late now, but I should warn you there is a clown later on. I’m not showing it next because I want to build tension. ;- )
When you come down to it, there are things just as bad as clowns, like this lamp:
Gosh, I hope this is a Christmas decoration so it’s only out for a month, max, instead of all year long! If this were my night-light, I would say, “turn on the dark”. We didn’t pick Grandma up to see if she stands on her feet, or lies in a coffin when in use.
This is a little girl’s dress (we feel the need to say that out loud):
Do you know how hard it is to make an ugly little girl’s dress? This might be the only one we’ve seen in a year. Usually, those dresses are so cute that we wish we knew an eight-year-old to give them to. Seriously, this is only fit for a Halloween costume or the rag bin.
I love boxes:
But, having said that, I really like vintage ones. This was really hard to leave behind as it is inlaid wood from Italy. Such a bargain, too, at 99¢. Since I didn’t drag it home, we put it on the shelf near the checkout where people stack the nice things they find rolling around in the bins. Sort of a safe place, if you will. It was gone the next time we came, so someone liked it.
I saw this sweet vintage baby doll and loved its dress:
I bought it because I think the dress will sell on Etsy. The doll, on the other hand:
We nicknamed her Devil Doll. Those eyes are straight out of The Exorcist! You can’t see it in this picture, but her hair went straight up six inches in the back, sort of like you-know-who in the wind. I didn’t know what to do with her besides burying her in my backyard in sanctified ground. Rather than going to all the trouble of buying holy water and praying, I decided to clean her up:
That white film came off her glass eyes at the cost of a few eye lashes. She still is kind of stained, even after scrubbing, but I did get her hair clean and combed—a major accomplishment. Last week I found that little dress in the bins, so she is all ready to go back out into the world better than I found her. Besides the cute green dress in the first picture, she had one of those Carters undershirts on with snaps on cloth tabs. I can remember those from my own childhood, lo those many years ago. It’s a long shot, but if any of you want her, she’s yours for the shipping. I feel for well-loved dollies, but there isn’t room in my house for things I don’t love.
Okay, bring in the clown:
I found his face particularly disturbing. B.H. is now calling me a clown racist—he likes the eyes. What is even more disturbing is that some well-meaning crafter made him! We can only hope that she didn’t give him to an innocent child! Well, he’s in the bins, and hopefully he ends up where he ultimately belongs, in the landfill.
Congratulations to Carol S. for winning the drawing for “Crap at my Parents’ House”. Hope you get many laughs from it and pass it on to someone who needs it.