My Etsies are neck and neck. I sold a nice pair of men’s wine colored wingtips to a suave guy in Germany on Dahlila Found, and my new Etsy friend up in Canada bought a really lovely amber button bracelet off Dahlila. That’s what I call a good Monday.
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Over the weekend, I rose early enough to go yard saling. I was just in that great thrifting mood too. You know–good coffee in hand, a big messy raspberry muffin, driving w/your knee, while looking for yard sale signs. It’s like treasure hunting for adults. And I really scored. I got a slew of books, the contents of some old tackle boxes–rusty fish hooks galore, feathers for tieing lures, weights, old fishing pouches, but the pieces that really got me were the records.
An old Boomer couple: long grey haired guy w/a mustache, she with a wing sleeved blouse, ala Stevie Nicks, were selling their ENTIRE record collection. The Rat Pack: tons of Sinatra; 60s, 70’s gold mine: Grand Funk Rail Road, The Byrds, Dylan, Young, Buffalo Springfield, Joplin. I wanted all 5 boxes. They were a quarter each! I don’t own a record player. I didn’t care. I bought 9 records. I want more.
You see, I was a 60’s child, but really I missed it. I was too young. I was just barely old enough in the 70s, but we didn’t know then history was being made. We were just hanging out, watching boys, living in the mountains. Our music was The Eagles, Fleetwood Mac, Boston, Creadance (which I do love), Kansas, The Doobies and, yes, Journey.
There’s this great scene in the movie “Almost Famous” when Anita leaves her young brother William behind w/their overprotective mother. She looks William straight in the eyes and tells him, “One day you’ll be cool. Look under your bed. It will set you free.” Under the bed is her whole record stash: The Who, Yes, Dylan, Bowie, Zepplin. . . . That’s how I felt on Sunday. And even today I’m sitting here looking at all this great music I can’t listen to. I could go buy Janis on CD at Target or Walmart or Amazon, but it just feels wrong.
I’ll leave you with these beauties, which if I can rip them from my fingers, I’ll be selling on DahlilaFound. (See, even I’m a sell out. )
If you happen to have a record player still, go play something rocking for yourself. Maybe, if I open my window real wide I’ll hear it too.