Goodwill For All!
by Kerry Blair
It's Friday? Again? Already?
I've lost the last two weeks to another life -- a wonderful life wherein a marvelously quirky character wins the lottery and sets out to give away millions. Have no fear, this hilarious new novel is coming soon to a bookstore near you. At least it will be if I meet my deadline (Monday) so the author can meet hers at the end of the month. Sadly, I'm not only behind, but I still have to go back and revist the chapters I edited last night . . . apparently in my sleep.
Fortunately, you don't need me. There are blogs everywhere! I recently came upon one I particularly love. I met its author, Laura Lofgreen, at a speaking engagement in Mesa -- a fun event that got me mentioned (albeit in passing) in the same blog as Barbara Kingsolver. (!) Laura is the author of a soon-to-be-released YA novel, Colors of the Sea and she has a thing for mermaids. But that's not why I like her. At least it's not the only reason I like her. Laura is one of my new best friends because she genuinely shares my affinity for junk.
You've heard the expression "One man's trash is another man's treasure". Truer words were never penned. (No, not even by Mormon. Everything he carved in stone was as true, certainly, but not all that much truer.) I love other men's trash! A swap meet is to me what Disneyland is to children. All my family (save one -- hurray for Scott!) and most of my friends regard a foray into a thrift store in the same light as a trip to the dump. (I'd probably like the dump, too, but our local landfill won't let you take anything from it, even if all they plan to do is bury great stuff alive. So strange.)
I could go on about my secondhand fixation all day, but I have a fictional world to get back to. One recent example, then. For years I have lusted after a room-sized, hand-tied, Victorian-style wool rug in shades of beige, coral, and cream. Even at 70% off, they tend to be about a thousand dollars out of my price range. Two weeks ago, I dragged my daughter down to the local Goodwill under the guise of making a donation. As long as we were already there, I convinced her it wouldn't hurt to look around for "just a minute" or two. (Or twenty.) At the back of the store, under a matted Christmas tree, one-third of a room divider, and two cartons of old utensils, tools, and anything else they didn't know where else to put, I spied the tufted end of a rolled-up carpet. While it would have been easier to extract a 300-lb man from a mining disaster, I managed to drag it out into the daylight once again. Then I fainted. Well, almost. For $25 -- less the 20% they give you when you make a donation -- I now have in my living room an 8'x10' hand-tied 100% wool rug. Not only is it in perfect condition, it's . . . get ready for it . . . beige, coral, and cream.
Write your own moral to the story.
For more -- and even more fun -- testimonials to the joy of "trash-collecting," you just have to visit Laura's blog: My Dear Trash. Tell her I sent you, please. I want to prove that what I lack in star power I make up in appreciation and admiration. (I'll bet Barbara Kingsolver never sent anybody her way.)