I've been reading your blog for two years now and have often found myself green with envy. The stuff you find at op shops (thrift stores, for us American readers) amazes me. What goes on in Australia that you have this endless stream of bounty? All those cross-stitched red mushrooms with white polka dots, the circa 1974 issues of Family Circle, the souvenir tea spoons, the ineffable jar hats?
Maybe I'd have better luck at thrift shops if I went more often--so much of thrifting victory has to do with serendipity, it seems. But all the good stuff seems to have been snatched up when I go to thrift shops. My thrift zen has never been all that good.
Until this weekend.
We were in the mountains, in a fairly remote, but still reasonably populated area. The boys were getting squirrelly, so I suggested a ride down the mountain. When we passed the Rainbow Thrift Shop in downtown Spruce Pine, I just had a feeling that what I needed was right inside. And when I saw two whole shelves devoted to chicken statuary, I knew I'd found thrift heaven.
Victoria, I have the greatest respect for your ability to find amazing op shop booty. I bow down to you. And yet ... if you can top a statuette of a rooster perched on a rock gazing at another rooster--in fact, a tiny version of himself--ensconced in a snow globe, well, I will permanently take off my hat to you.
How many hours could one spend pondering the philosophical and spiritual implications of Big Rooster gazing at himself in that tiny, snowy world? Does he even know that the tiny rooster is his spitting image? Do roosters have mirrors? Do they know what they look like? Is this narcissism at its extreme? Maybe the rooster is contemplating how long it would take to peck through the glass ball to free the little rooster inside. Maybe the snow globe is actually a crystal ball, in which Big Rooster is looking into his own future, in which he is much smaller and lives on a farm where it snows all the time.
I hope this rooster will serve as an inspiration to you and all my op-shopping friends. The Sublime is out there, slightly used with a tiny crack or two, and it only costs two dollars. Hunt it down, girls, hunt it down. It's what makes life worth living.
I'm a writer and a stay-at-home mom who keeps meaning to mop the floors because I think it would make me happy if I did. I love books and music and writing, spend entirely too much time in the dentist's chair (I bet I have more crowns than you do), and used to think I was sort of bohemian, but now I wonder. No tattoos. Minivan. That story.