Yesterday, before I realized I was going to get whoppingly sick, I went to a yard sale and then to the Exchange. Actually, the truth of the matter is that I might have gotten whoppingly sick from going to the Exchange. But it was worth it. Well. Sorta kinda

You see, the Exchange is at the dump. I’m not sure it’s actually called the Exchange – if the elusive Joe Cash decides to get on here with a comment I bet he’d know. The sign, as you are entering the dump says “Swap Shop” and “Recycling Center” so I don’t know how people got to calling it the Exchange, except for that’s what goes on there.

I guess I ought to tell you about the yard sale and the Goodwill first though, because if I hadn’t had such luck there I’d have never followed the feeling I call The Winkle to the Exchange. As many of you know, I’ve kept myself out of serious financial trouble by buying stuff at yard sales and thrift stores and reselling it on eBay. Following The Winkle, that little spark when looking at one yard sale ad among all others in the County Times, the sure knowledge that something will sell that precedes the certain knowledge of what the thing is or if or how it works, has kept us afloat for many months. I sure wish my Winkle would work on the stock market – and who knows, maybe it would….but there’ll be many years of poking around other people’s discards before I’ll have any money to invest, so it’s not worth thinking about.

But, as usual, I digress.

The point is that The Winkle was running strong yesterday. The single yard sale that I had time to visit turned out to be at the home of the owner of a local well known antique shop. I walked onto his property, over to a corner mostly covered with newspaper and such like, saw a filthy vase with a swan on it, picked it up and turned it over. It was a McCoy…..the “real” McCoy, I may add ( I learned all about McCoy pottery when a member of the pottery and glass group I belong to online found out that over half of his collection was fake)

“Oh, I’m so sorry, M’am– that’s already spoken for!” Mr. Antique said.

I don’t doubt it! I thought but I said innocently, “Oh, okay.” And handed it to him. He kept a very sharp eye on me the whole time I was there. I don’t think he thought I was going to steal from him or anything….I think he was just interested in what else caught the eye of a woman who could walk in off the street and locate a valuable piece of pottery he had accidentally gotten mixed up with his trash in seconds flat. From him I bought an old cookie tin for the house, a state plate and three little rooster plates. “Don’t you want the saucers too? They come with.” he informed me.

“No, I haven’t got any use for the saucers if it’s all the same to you.” At which he actually cocked his head the way a bird does when trying to discern a grub among the blades of grass.

“You know, I do some of the buying for my shop” he blurted out.
“Do you though?” I asked mildly.

“Are you – ah? Do – Well. I mean say hello to me, will you, if you’re ever in my shop. And, is it going to rain? I mean,for long? The forecast only said showers.”

This last struck me as a very strange question, but you must understand that people ask me bizarre questions all the time. It was obvious that it was going to rain. Hell, it was starting to rain as he asked the question.

“Oh, yes, I expect we’ll get several hours out of it.” I answered, “ Have a good day, sir.”

It didn’t take The Winkle to figure that out, but not everybody had a wise grandfather who instructed them on how to tell the weather when they were children the way I did. And here in Maryland the forecast is useless, so no wonder he didn’t pay it any mind.

Anyway, I felt I really ought to go to the Goodwill next. That place has, in the past, been an utter waste of time ( except for the time I found a 1942 vintage Disney planter in perfect shape which I bought for $2.00 and resold for $18.00) save for clothing for myself. Well, perhaps The Hand of Fate feels I’m looking a little raggedy, I thought, and pulled in.

But, clearly the place was under new and energetic management. Not only was there a lot more stuff out on display, it seemed as if they were now actually interested in selling it. Prices had come way down. I got The Winkle on a set of glasses, which I knew and still know nothing about, but bought them at .50 cents a piece anyway. Picked up a Harry Potter jewelry box in perfect shape for .25, a badly tarnished silver sugar dish for .75 cents ( that had nothing to do with The Winkle. Silver is valuable!) found myself an Evan Picone wool blazer which will look beautiful with jeans this fall and winter for $3.25 and a pair of brocade pants from Anne Taylor for $4.00 ( those aren’t anywhere close to being my size. They’re for eBay.)

Yet, I was being drawn to the Exchange, even in the pouring rain. Now what could be so needful that I ought to go down there? I asked….who? Myself, I guess. But, nevertheless, I headed down to the dump and pulled up to the shed that serves as the Exchange. On Saturdays, two young men sit there in orange safety vests and drink soda which they rest on overturned milk crates. If anyone needs help with lifting or hauling they assist. It’s their job.

Even in perfect weather, the Exchange can be a grim place. “ITEMS MUST BE IN USABLE CONDITION. THE CONTINUANCE OF THE RECYLING CENTER DEPENDS UPON CITIZEN COOPERATION!” reads a hand lettered sign in the shed. Countians are hard and frugal people with a broad notion of what is considered “usable”. This is Lands End, The End of the Line for any junk with any life left in it. It’s the stuff people are throwing out….they just can’t bear to throw it out. But for anybody who’s not sure how the economy is going let me tell you this: I have never seen that shed remotely full. I have never dropped something off there one day and come back the next and still seen it there. You don’t need to be dropping off to take something out. This IS the dump we’re talking about here.

At least it was out of the rain and…Books! My favorite thing to see at the Exchange. All kinds of titles wind up here. I found an Ellery Queen mystery – love ‘em! And most of them are out of print, a book of poems by Emily Dickenson which contains some I’ve been dying to have. Old Spanish text books – I picked up two to brush up.

It’s damp in there anyway, and probably a little moldy. I should have never hung out in the unofficial book corner for so long. No wonder I have asthma so bad now that I can hardly talk. But I didn’t tell you the best part. Just as I finished my delighted browse through free, albeit slightly shabby used books a huge SUV pulled up. Everyone’s head turned. A single, heavy item was off loaded. Everyone looked at it without knowing what it was, except for me.

It was a HUGE dog bed! The kind that sits up off the floor, that has a bit of canvass around the sides to make a dog feel extra secure and a big fluffy pillow for extra comfort. They cost over a hundred dollars in stores, and, notwithstanding the cost, I’d never seen one Winston would fit in any how. Except for this one, which was literally dumped at my feet with no other problem except for a wobbly leg.

“Um, excuse me, sir? Would you mind putting that in my car?” I asked a vest clad young man.

“No problem. What is it?”

“It’s a dog bed.”

“No s***! Er, I mean, no kidding. I mean it’s big enough for a person to sleep on.”

“My dog’s as big as a person. But don’t worry, he’s not in the car.” I added hastily.

“Not too many people gonna have a dog that big. Wonder how come you and her showed up on the same day?” ( he meant the lady who off loaded the dog bed two minutes before.)

“It’s the Man Upstairs. He looks out for people, you know.” I said – this being my version of a Christian witness.

“Yep. I’ve heard that. His eye is on the little bird, or something like that.” The student said agreeably.

Wow. I guess that means I’d better straighten up and fly right!