Month: March 2026

As a young girl of 7 or 8, I would sit and leaf through my older brother’s or my Mom’s yearbooks.  My Mom, class of 52 and my brother class of 73. I browsed the black and white senior photos of pretty, fresh-faced girls in soft sweater sets with strands of pearls or pendants with their perfectly coiffed hair. I paused over pictured of cheerleaders, majorettes, FFA sweethearts and homecoming royalty.  I would pause over choir and chess club, band and theater, basketball and football…pep club. The list went on.  I dreamed. I dreamed of being such a part of this amazing thing called high school.  I wanted to be all the things. Popular, liked, beautiful, important.

I was none of those things. If any classmates even remembered me, their feelings were more than likely negative. I was fat, loud and demanded too much attention. I never had a date, and friends were fleeting until my senior year when a classmate became my sister in law. 

I’m not feeling sorry for myself. I did it to myself. I took up too much space when that space and time was not mine to take. I recognize that now. But I also have come to understand why.  The story is mine and I won’t make anyone bear witness to it.  All I ask is this. If a child is demanding space, time, attention..maybe we need to ask ourselves why. Why do they feel so small that they spread themselves into places that they aren’t wanted?  There is nothing I can say now, that would change anyone’s opinion of me that was formed nearly 50 years ago.  The yearbook pictures I realize now, were just a brief glimpse..a mirage of 4 short years of our lives. 

Last month, my sister Tonya and my niece,  Laura and I, set out for an afternoon of thrifting.  Thrifting is the humane equivalent of stalking,  hunting, and harvesting game.    We spent the early afternoon looking through the racks and shelves of a Goodwill. Celebrating my Old Navy jacket, Maurices jeans that fit me perfectly and a nearly new stainless steel Cuisinart blender for next to nothing, we broke for 2pm Tacos.  We then strolled through endless booths of an antique/collectible mall. I scored an ironstone pitcher. We circled and dug, and inspected, sharing moments when we recognized an object from our youth  “Oh my gawd! we had one of these (fill in blank here), remember!?!   At times it was like a step through a time machine, recalling the familiar everyday items, long ago discarded. 

Do/did I need any of these items?   Sadly, no. I have quite a collection of collectibles and well, a pile of junk.   I have,  over the past year been making monthly trips to Goodwill already. Not as a hunter, but as a contributor.  I have already donated ill- fitting jeans, sweaters, dishes and small appliances that have never been utilized or used or even seen as they hang out at the very back of my cabinets. I recently donated decor that I no longer enjoy, and a half crocheted afghan that I have lost interest in. Even furniture that have no room for in my trailer have been carted off.  With all of this, why, pray tell would I go thrifting to look through other people’s junk to haul back home?

Well, because it brings me joy.

Sometimes, we do things for nothing more than the sheer gratification. 

Granted, these acquisition trips mustn’t happen too frequently,  or my trailer could begin to bulge at the seams. But, an occasional thrifting day with friends or family or friendly family (especially with the addition of 2pm tacos) are just the cure for a boring Friday…which is necessary.   So say I.

I will get my keys.