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Something Old, Something New

Nope. Nobody is getting married.

Just borrowing a catchy phrase reserved primarily for weddings because no other title could fit more perfectly.

I’m second hand rose. Goodwill, Salvation Army, and consignment shops are my frequent haunts. I enjoy the process of sifting through racks of second hand goods, and then rejoice when I find that Ann Taylor shirt, or those pants from the Gap for $2.99. I have a set of Christmas snowman dessert dishes and mugs (service for 8) for which I paid $6.00. Yes, it takes time to find items and one must really be passionate about the hunt. Yes, the items have been worn, or used by others (although not in the case of the Christmas goods), but I simply don’t care.

It’s fun. I always find incredible items. I think I like the thrill of the chase.

Walking down 3rd street the other day, I passed an empty store front that used to house a bead store. Since moving here, I’ve always joked that I would rent the space and open a used book store – Beaver needs one. So, surprise, surprise, when we walked by last weekend only to glance in the window and see Prada shoes. Prada? Beaver? Huh?

I looked at the display in the window and immediately started salivating. Ask Harper. She will confirm that Mom was panting.

The display not only had Prada shoes, but an eclectic mix of handbags, jeans, and some funky blouses. I sniffed the air. My spidey senses tingled. Can you say motherload?

Girls, there’s a new designer consignment boutique opening in September and of course, you know who, marched right inside, introduced myself to the owner, shared my passion for consigning, and gave her my card. A very casual conversation followed. One that hinted of her hiring me for a few hours here and there.

Um, yes. And. Yes.

Something old. Never underestimate the power of older designer fashions!

Ok, now for some real honesty. I diversity stalked today. The place was Brady’s Run. The creek. As we came off a trail on which we were hiking, the kids mentioned that they wanted to play in the creek. The place was packed, as the weather has been amazingly beautiful. I immediately noticed a black woman (yes, I said black, for how am I to know if she’s from African descent) with great dreds playing with some children in the creek.

I sidled on up to her and made chit chat. The surfacy chit chat lasted only about two minutes by which point we were hooked and moved on to deeper conversation. She grew up here. Shared with us about some homes in Bridgewater that were on the underground railroad back in the day. Told us where we can get “soul food” and how I must get down to the Strip District – no, no, no, that doesn’t mean pole dancers and pasties, but rather the international market scene. No naked flesh. At least I don’t think.

We chatted about Beaver County and about race, both from her black and my white perspective – of which, interestingly enough, we had made similar observations. She shared how she can’t stand being called “African-American” and prefers “black”. I concurred. “Nobody calls me an Italian-American”, I added. She confirmed, once again, that I am a cake-eater. We laughed as I shared that I must be the only cake-eater hunting under the couch cushions for quarters so that I can hit up Aldi! She mentioned her need to find a church and we talked about Four Mile.

And then I learned she works as a massage instructor where I take yoga.

She invited me to come in any day when she is teaching, as the students need to to get in their hours on, well, people. I’m people.

She also noticed my Mary Kay key chain and told me that she throws all types of parties for her students and wanted to book a Mary Kay party.

Something new. All it took was a simple introduction in a creek.

I am convinced, yet again, that when we stick to our comfortable circles we miss out on God’s surprises for us.

My passion for “something old” may have just landed me a very small position at the consignment shop. Seriously, can you even imagine?

My passion for “something new” landed me a new friend today.

Who knows what’s coming around the next bend.

Something borrowed? Something blue?

Penny in my new Prada shoe?

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