Sunday Stash #228 – The Yard Sale
Another Sunday, another Stash! Here are some more selections that have hit the fabric cupboard from my trips to Singapore. I’ve actually got another week’s worth of fabric to show, and then the following week I’m going back to Singapore. So maybe the madness will never end–it’s almost become an occupational hazard! Today, I’m also offering up something a bit different: some poetry from The Vault of Molli Sparkles. I stumbled across this ode to my childhood and grandparents today. While it speaks to a specific experience, I found it transcending to my interest in collecting fabrics as well. As much as things change, they still remain the same. Enjoy!
The Yard Sale
My grandparents and I used to follow the “yard sale” signs
around every corner, winding through neighborhoods we’d go–
just to look for junk.
Of course my grandma would rummage through the china–
you know the kind: dreamsicle in color
and just as fragile. It was the clanging of tools
that attracted my grandpa. He never bought much.
Me, I didn’t take one six-year-old step past
any of the nickel toy boxes. There I’d be surrounded
by more treasures than my coins could purchase.
She-ra action figures, single Lego blocks begging
for a place in my yellow bag at home, and
the occasional Mickey Mouse accessory.
Even those things I didn’t need (another stuffed animal
destined to rage war on my bed) I gathered into my arms.
It was as if I made new best friends
with every figurine and vehicle with four wheels.
But my grandma said only one toy. One toy!
As my grandparents stood around me, waiting,
I slipped into a boy a little older than myself.
It was obvious what would survive all
the adventures of dust bunnies and
dark-closet-corner syndrome once it was in my room.
It hurt when I threw those friends back in the
bent cardboard box. Digging around in my deep pockets
I withdrew and deposited a single nickel
into an older boy’s mature hands.
It was as if I had known the sounds
of my (one!) new toy all along;
I didn’t care what it was, because it was mine.
I followed my grandparents back to the mini-van
and we backed away from the curbs of suburbia.