The Law of Attraction?

Bippity Boppity Boo, has it EVER happened to you? Call it “Law of Attraction”, “Cosmic Ordering” or just dang luck, but there seems to be abundance in positive thinking when it comes to hunting for something second hand.

“IF YOU EVER SEE……..” .Only half in jest, my friends beg my attention with mournful requests for certain items, and nine times out of ten the coveted item will be found. And needless to say, “throwing it out to the universe” has become ritual in our family.

I am currently looking for a good leather belt, and size 12 Crocs, for my son in law, as well as Sinatra on vinyl for the guy who styles my hair, and for the next few years ANYTHING Hollister will be a hit with my pre-teen granddaughter.

Years back it was a beautiful tweed “city coat” for my friend’s husband, and to this day, at dinner parties it’s inevitable that she’ll point to me and say….”If you ever want……”

There seems to be a different ethos within the thrifting community shifts the universe toward sending us what we need. Could this be because most people who find joy in thrifting are not greedy, but simply creative people who love the “hunt” and who feel great joy in sharing with others. Again,“The Law of Attraction”?

Recently a “Rosebud” told the story of finding Tiki Lights for a wedding at a Yard Sale after searching all the retail outlets in Boone. It was a great, and inexpensive find, and just made the day! You can’t help but wonder sometimes about this synchronicity.

The Pea Coat, most beautiful, authentic, made in Boston and mint condition, was found last week in the Goodwill in Black Mountain. My intention to find one had been “out there” for about a month, and I must admit that I am always filled with wonder and disbelief when something is manifested.

I do believe that the magic wands that bring us this abundance will remain fine tuned if we stay in a place of gratitude for the abundance we create. Happy hunting!

One Leg of a Girdle

( Editor's note: Though the Rosies are from two different generations, they share very similar stories that both began by giving to others through volunteer work. This is Rosie W.'s story of her time in Washington state.)

One leg of a girdle, and parts from an old Army fighter plane were some of the “treasures?” one could dig up in the authentic, and often spooky, attic of the Mission Building at St. Mary’s Mission in Omak, Washington. The school, Paschal Sherman Indian School, was located on the Colville Reservation in eastern WA.

This is where I spent some time in the early ‘70’s as a volunteer for the Jesuit Volunteer Corps, and where my husband and I spent our first years of marriage in a tiny room off the back of the boy’s dormitory.

The attic became my haunt. Donations came in regularly, and it was fun to rummage through the odd assortment of boxes from individuals as well as government surplus items.

It was there I found the old cedar chest that I trekked back across the country. At one time it was used as a coffin for one of the nuns who died years ago….short German nuns they were! There is still an inscription in faint pencil script on the inside of the chest which notes that “Sister ?” died October 18, 1920 in the evening. There is a faint list of witnesses too.

The attic also manifested a source of refrigeration for friends who were living off the grid. This was Army surplus, and the only problem was it had “Human Blood” stamped all over the outside, and it became quite the conversation piece in their home.

Folks sent toys for the children as well, but sadly some donations were in such poor shape that we staff had to trash many an item. It still makes me smile to remember the day the smaller girls had a “rebellion” in the Army Quonset hut that served as the gym, and began tossing all the “white honkey” dolls off the balcony. They deserved better, but we all learned to “make do”.

I taught sixth grade in a converted garage with all furnishings being cast offs from the outside world. In the end, none of this mattered. We were a small happy bunch who lived with the children 24/7. There was a pet coyote, lots of singing, dancing, community meals, playing and love.

And one leg of a girdle remains my best example of a donation gone awry.

The Attic--one of my first loves

Over the weekend, I had a blast from the past come down to Boone to visit. Some old friends of mine from Berea, KY rented a cabin on top of Snaggy Mountain and settled in for what was winter’s first hint of a show. They came to celebrate my friend’s 40th birthday and they filled me in on the “goings on” in Berea—an old stomping ground of mine. Let me invite you into a bit of my history….. following college, I spent a year working/volunteering as an outreach social worker in Eastern Kentucky with the Christian Appalachian Project. I lived in a community of individuals in a roadside converted motel and had my own office attached to a large thrift store. The thrift store was named “The Attic”. Oh, the Attic….how I loved the Attic. Rene was the manager of the Attic. She was a beautiful southern woman, whose parents were missionaries and had raised her to be altruistic. She was also a single mother and drove a red convertible. You could tell she had lived a bit on the wild side somewhere along her life’s journey. Rene headed the bunch. JC was a chain smoking local who worked in the warehouse, loading and unloading, sorting, managing, and driving the big donation trucks around the mountain towns. He had a fast grin and a thick drawl and was as kind as the day is long. Ingrid and Becky worked the front of the house. Ingrid was from Germany originally. She had lived in Eastern Kentucky most of her adult life, but never left her accent behind and distinguished herself by having an Eastern Kentucky twang with a guttural German sound behind it. Ingrid was as sweet as pie. Becky was a local lady who loved the social aspects of working at the Attic. She knew her customers by name, they were neighbors, distant relations, or fellow church members or all three. Becky loved to talk and wanted to retire from the Attic as her career of choice. I was the lone social worker in the building, who came and had morning coffee with the group at 8:30 every morning to discuss details of the day. The young outsider who was “let in.” They accepted me as a Yankee among them and allowed me to cut my teeth in their presence. Furthermore,I had my own account at the Attic. As a volunteer, I was paid $100 a month in the form of a stipend. This money did not stretch far, even in those days (the early 90’s). So, I would often find treasures at the Attic that I could not resist, but had no money to buy. The folks there would just add it to my bill. They were very generous and understanding of my ongoing financial status. Why did I love the Attic so much? They had an entire wing dedicated to vintage clothing. ( see the picture above---I could almost smell the vintage clothing just by looking at the picture) They also had brand new clothes as well as gently used clothes for all ages. Households, shoes, and bedding were staple items in the store. Everything there had been donated to the Christian Appalachian Project. These donations were local as well as national---therefore, the merchandise did not necessarily reflect the local styles of the region, which is more typical than atypical if you think about it. Seriously, you never knew what you would find at this store. I bought an antique couch, steamer trunks, afghans, clothing, pottery, jewelry, etc….. all from the Attic. I should have just proclaimed that I would work for nothing because the majority of my paycheck would go right back to the organization. The Attic was also a community resource. People could get vouchers for school clothes, winter coats, professional clothing, etc. Families who experienced house fires could come to the Attic and shop for free. Victims of domestic violence, families in severe poverty, those attempting to gain employment….the Attic was designed to be a safety net of physical resources. They could clothe a town with the amount of clothing you could find in that store and in the warehouse. I am certain that over all of its years of existence, this thrift store brought thousands of smiles into the world.

Before I left my post in August of 1995 to return to graduate school, I made the Attic a sign out of a mosaic of used stamps. It was my farewell gift to them, my coffee group, my mentors, and my way of life as a volunteer. Many life lessons for a young Midwestern woman were learned under the roof of the Attic.

According to the Berea Citizen Newspaper, the Attic closed its doors this past September. The landlord has yet to find another renter and it is currently boarded up with a sign outside. Wish that I could rent it……. The power of the memories of that building will always hold a dear place in my heart and I wanted to share its story with you. If you have any stories you would like to share about your favorite thrift store or a thrift store that has played a large role in your thrifting development, we encourage you to tell us your story. As always, happy hunting!