opportunistic

well, it wouldn't have been much of a holiday without a bit of op shopping somewhere along the line. I managed one trip to the nearest place of thriftiness, ie. in the next town, only to find that my most beloved of all op shops, the one where I have in the past found some of my most treasured treasures, the oppiest of all op shops, was indeed devoid of all goodness. It was full of crap. Now, I'm just going to let that slide. In my mind, it was just having a bad day, and when next I return, it will once again be brimming with good stuff just waiting to be picked up by the likes of me. So across the road I hopped, to the other, lesser op shop, the one that never really has much at all, and managed to at least score a couple of scraps of fabric, in pink and red, which as it happens are in rather short supply in my shed, so that was a good outcome I guess.so off we went home then, feeling just a little dejected (can you imagine the disappointment of the children at having no vintage treasures to share the back seat with them?), and we're driving back through the streets of my little home town, when all of a sudden I spy a roadside chuck out (er, council pick up). I can spot one of those a mile off. Actually, my husband is even better than me, but he was busy negotiating a winding road with oncoming traffic at the time.
Now this chuck out consisted mainly of furniture, and if I'd have been lucky enough to have had a trailer attached to the back of the car, then some very appealing orange vinyl chairs would certainly have made the journey home with us. But, as I was limited to small items that could be squeezed in amongst children and scooters and suitcases, this rosy tin was the only thing that I managed to salvage. and, I can honestly say that I would have been happy with that, because that really is the rosiest of tins. And, to top it off, it's a "willow" tin too, which are our favourite type of tins. But the story doesn't end there. As I'm perusing this chuck out, making sure I haven't missed anything, I happen to notice the occupant of the (very gorgeous original 50"s green fibro) house looking at me through the window, and then I'm thinking "oh, great, she's going to tell me this isn't a chuck out after all and I have to put back that sweet little rosy tin", when instead, she says "um, there's more stuff inside, if you're interested". Like I wouldn't be? Who the heck wouldn't be interested in the contents of a very gorgeous little fibro shack that looks like it hasn't been changed in last 60 years?so, off I trot down the front path, and through the loveliest of front doors, with the highest of hopes, only to find that the place had already been ransacked by other opportunists who obviously had some prior knowledge of the loot that lay waiting that day, and all I managed to find were a few plates and a little kettle for the cubby.
but then, as I'm leaving, I almost trip over a big pile of linen in the middle of loungeroom. Yes, my friends, linen. And there, in that pile of linen, I spied the tiniest peek of chenille. "Um", I uttered, in a tiny little voice, "are you getting rid of that too?", for surely no-one in their right mind gets rid of chenille. "Yes", they said, "everything".
So that, dear friends, is how I came to be the proud owner of a pair of matching totally groovy chenille bedspreads that day. Oh, and a pretty rad little cushion too. And if I were a braver mamma, and perhaps one with the type of children who regularly grace the pages of my favourite magazines, the type of children who can be trusted with such things as white chenille bedpsreads, then those bedspreads would surely be covering my childrens' beds and making them look totally cool right now. But, they are not. The type of children I have are a two year old with a texta fetish, an almost seven year old who can't help but make a mess wherever he goes, and a 9.5 year old who is frequently covered in weepy scabs, so I'm afraid white chenille is out of the question right now. For now, they will be stashed in my linen cupboard, along with my original pink ballerina version I had when I was three, waiting for the day when they can come out of hiding again.