Bargains Galore, Continued. .
So, I wrote about my junking adventures on Facebook. My friend Steve, antiques dealer and junker extraordinaire, wrote back that I had missed the best part, from Lamar/Clarksville to Ozark.
I thought about this. I stewed. I thought some more. Then, sold my soul for a free day and completely rearranged my schedule so that I could take off for Shangrilas Friday morning. Steve described it as Christmas three times over. I’d call it heaven. Same thing, to some. There was some major junking to be had; besides the sales every fifty or so feet on either side of the road (hit or miss, but fortunately you can usually tell without getting out of the car) there were three town-square markets and a pocket of paradise put together by a retired teacher in Coal Hill (Country Living, are you reading this?). BJ Thomas serenaded me at one point; at another I pulled into the driveway of a grand old gothic mansion in Clarksville (columns everywhere, two story wrap around porch) to the Gunsmoke theme or was it Bonanza? (it was Western themes day on the local NPR station).
Oh, and did I mention the Route 44 Diet Dr. Pepper from Sonic? I drink these all the time, but somehow it tasted even more perfect during the hunt. I swear it’s the crushed ice from Sonic. They have a patent on it, you know.
I got some cool stuff, but that’s not really the point. Highlights, though, included a Holly Hobbie in near perfect condition for $2. Just for me. Totally frivolous and I don’t care. Anyone who is anywhere close to my age and gender will understand the significance of this. In the mid-to- late seventies, just about every girl in America had a Holly Hobbie rag doll like this one:
Work with me here, it was the bicentennial, Little House on the Prairie was riding high in the Nielsens, all that. Americana was big. Anyway, my nine-year-old self had one, of course, but today I have no idea what became of her.
Recently they “redesigned” Holly for the 21st century.
Of course, she pales in comparison. No matter. I have the real Holly back now.
Something else to ponder: Twice along this route, I saw single, brand-new tricked out caskets being sold on the side of the road. Shiny new caskets tend to stand out among the requisite junk. Anyway, here’s what I want to know: how do you end up with an extra casket just lying around?
It’s easier, albeit just slightly, to explain why someone might want to buy a casket from the amongst the faded, flourescent Little Tikes toys in front of a baking hot trailer on the side of the road. Conversation piece and all that. Heck, in her (much) later years Katherine Anne Porter , one of my favorite authors, liked to keep one in her living room to shock visitors. Check out her biography, there’s a picture of her standing in it.
But how do you end up with an extra. . .casket to sell? Ordered one too many? Last minute miracle? Suggestions are welcome; I’ve been around it and around it and I just can’t come up with a plausible explanation.
Then there was the white bureau, around Clarksville, labeled:
“White Chester Drawers $10.”
If spelling was that much of an issue (obviously it wasn’t) $10 on the (white) bureau itself would have been clear enough to me.
When I got home, everyone was looking spiffy with their back-to-school haircuts. Friday’s groceries had already been purchased and put away; pizza was in the oven, a nice glass of Yellow Tail white sat on the counter with my name on it and family movie night was on tap.
October Sky. One of my all-time favorites.
I’m not sure it can get better than this. Really.