Just to know that my phone will not ring until after noon.To pull the covers up over my shoulder and feel no guilt. I love the fact that our Creator-- in His divine design of things --set apart a day for rest. It delights me to have my seven year old daughter Eliza come, half asleep into the kitchen and help me stir the pancake mix and lay the bacon out in her own special pattern on the broiler pan. I am captivated by her blonde mop of curls spilling over her pinafore nightgown that I notice its suddenly looking way too small. It is Sunday and I am home. Many weekends I am not. As a vintage hip shop owner I am quite often off on the hunt to find cool stuff. Unique finds that will delight. Up at the crack of dawn with my 64 oz. Dunkin Donuts thermos full of beautiful hot black coffee ready to go. I have to say this that this is my passion.
And I love the folks who sell and trade the goods at flea market and estate sales across this country. They are refreshingly real. I like real. And I like to find the "undiscovered" amid the mass of the typical. Each piece I find has a story to tell... some mystery that makes me wonder. Like the 1930's hand tied quilt made from men's suits that I find and have to have.
I haggle a bit but not too much, I think of being that seller and how I wouIdn't want to part with it. I look it over carefully wonder who the woman was that laid that quilt across her lap and tied each tie just so... and what sort of men sported these colorful wools and tweeds My imagination takes over filling my valiant 2007 Suburban with magnificent picks till it is stuffed. I begin the journey back. Back to the barns to prep each item and then make space in the shop for the new additions. I find it so wonderful just traipsing around and gathering things that people have let go of in desperation on a quest for simplicity and space. I am blessed. Sunday mornings are sweet just because they are...whether on the road or at home.