One Man’s Treasure…
The other morning while driving the short distance to St. Arbucks I saw four large signs tacked to poles and trees.
“Huge Rummage Sale Today!”
I looked for an actual definition of “Rummage” and this is what I found”
“To search thoroughly or actively through (a place, receptacle, etc.), especially by moving around, turning over, or looking through contents.”
Kinda sounds like either a scavenger hunt or Spring Cleaning to me.
I like going to rummage sales – which are also known as – Garage Sales, Yard Sales or Sidewalk Sales. It doesn’t matter. They are really all the same thing. I just like going to them to see what other people have decided is disposable. Almost every sale is dominated by the baby clothes that Junior no longer needs now that he is in college. Men’s neckties are always up for sale too. That I don’t understand. I burned mine when I retired. It seemed more psychologically appropriate to me.
If you are on the lookout for Pyrex cookware or an old cast iron skillet then you should start hitting the Rummage Sale circuit. If you are looking for videos of any movies released after 1978, try E-bay. Disco still lives at rummage sales. If you love old, dog-eared paperback books then look for those signs that sprout like weeds on Saturday mornings.
I rarely buy anything because I know that, if I do, it is going to end up on a table at our own rummage sale.
There is that old saying that must have been coined by a Rummage Sale fanatic – “One man’s trash is another man’s treasure.” I think that doesn’t really apply to men. I don’t care how the saying is worded. A more accurate wording would be, “One man’s trash is another man’s trash once his wife sees what he brought home.”
Men and Women have differing views on what is or isn’t a thing of value. A man turned loose at a rummage sale is quite likely to look at old power tools, Hawaiian shirts, and anything associated with his favorite sports team as a real find. What is also likely is that when he comes home clutching his treasures the first words from his wife will be, “What is that trash?” Guess where all of those things are going to end up?
I must admit that my wife, the lovely and treasure sensitive, Dawn, has never said anything like that to me. I think that is so because I have avoided bringing anything home other than myself – and a Dr. Pepper.
I still like to pick my way through the tables filled with knick-knacks, bric-a-brac, and miscellaneous stuff. I’m still thinking that someday I’ll come across that unbelievably rare Abner Doubleday baseball card, first edition Gutenberg bible, or Captain Midnight Decoder Ring and get it for only 25 cents. Then, when I come home clutching my holy grail of Rummagedom, my wife won’t be able to say, “What is that trash?” No. Instead she will say, “Oh, good. We can put that on our table at the Rummage Sale. I’ll bet we can get a dime for it.”