Confession, though I don’t believe: I have an unremitting interest in thrifts. Not just as places to shop, although I am definitely into that, but also as a repository for a lot of angst and waste and wonder and memory. I try different ones in order to see what’s there and available, but sometimes I think I am looking for something more inside . . . my next poem, perhaps.

Really, I am more curious to find out what’s inside: a strange or beautiful piece of glass, and sometimes the people that work and shop in these places, such as the Goodwill cashier who ran through the store one day—she wore a huge Halloween witch hat and was bawling as a manager ran after her. I want to do this so I can dig a little deeper than the pile of used books on the knickknacks shelves, next to the small white porcelain statue of the Virgin Mary made in Japan twenty years ago. What was I doing in that year, 1988? My first year of high school . . .

There are a million little secrets in these stores. Right under the heels of that heavily used pair of pink lizard skin Liz Claiborne sandals with the kitten heels. I am always surprised by what people get rid of . . . clothing and items with the tags still on them, obviously unused or unworn. A plum chenille button-up collared sweater, tag still on it. I wonder how that happens.

I have the same interest in antiques and vintage items . . . something about the history of an object. In this society, throwing away is a common habit, yet there is this undercurrent of recycling . . . I see it in thrift stores, yard sales, and other places.

I belong to a user group called Freecycle—the principle is to give things in fairly good condition away for free. It’s beautiful in concept . . . I’ve only used it once, though, to get rid of some clothes two sizes two big. The woman who got dibs was ecstatic with her choices. I was happy to clean out my already overstuffed living room and bedroom in the process.

What does this mean—that objects might get a second chance . . . that new memories might be made through an older object. That everything I use need not end up in the landfill . . . I want to explore. Obsess over this for awhile.

Yesterday’s finds:

Went to the Indian School Thrift Store (?), Indian School and 29th Avenue. Sister store to the Mesa Thrift Store, located across the street from my parking lot. Never been there until tonight. Thought I was going to Goodwill—was told by my friend that a huge Goodwill was located there and that I should check it out. Turns it out to be another large thrift store, different ownership, but hey, I’m not complaining.

Bought:
Wine colored velvet long sleeved shirt, crew neck, like new condition, $6.98
Silky knee length wrap robe, black and pink rose pattern, like new condition, $2.98
Ceramic witch girl with straw broom and purple velvet witch hat, wild red hair, small scratch on face, $0.75

I collect glass objects (vases, window pieces, etc.), wind chimes, witch stuff, and black cat paraphernalia, so one more thing to add to my collection.

A lot of things I didn’t buy . . . large bottle of Burt’s Bees hair conditioner . . . no shampoo or I would have walked away with it. How to Swim with the Sharks . . . advice for women in the workplace. I don’t know any sharks; how about snakes or mountain lions?

An orange rhinestone studded frame without the backing . . . how would you get the photo to stay inside? Maybe it doesn’t need one . . . I seem to remember seeing someone hang frames on a wall, sans pictures or photos. A lot of stuff on the floor . . . nothing stays on the hangers.

A woman tells another customer her legs are too big, she’s just woken up, and she doesn’t feel put together. It is seven o’clock in the evening. Her eyes are heavily caked with turquoise (or is it peacock) eyeshadow. Her white flats seem out of place with her dark dress and long coat . . . isn’t there a rule about not wearing white after Labor Day?

But she is determined to find the perfect pair of heels. Perhaps to make her legs look smaller? They look thin to me but, then, most women’s legs do. I don’t have leg envy . . . she is trying on a gold, bead-studded, open-toed pair. I don’t dare . . . they'd look like shit on my legs.

Stop by Last Chance. Not used exactly, but clothes and other items that have seen their better days in stores like Macy’s and Nordstroms. Sometimes returned or tried on a few too many times for picky customers tastes. I try on a Michael Kors dress . . . even top designers seem to have a problem making clothes for larger women. They don’t get it. We won’t want to walk around looking like we’re wearing a tent. I’m not a circus act . . .

I used to shop for shoes there, but since I’ve started frequenting thrift stores, Last Chance shoes seem too expensive for me. The purses are even more outrageous . . . 60 bucks or more. Lots of chains and snakeskin this year. Ooh, snakeskin . . . I do like that. For some reason, I have six purses in various colors . . . puce, plum, cherry red, copper, black, cofee; I'm a snakeskin devotee. Perhaps a worshipper in another life . . . a lot of cultures admire the snake . . .

But I find a major bargain . . . this beautiful designer wool coat, knee length, black and white houndstooth, for $20.00. Lovely condition, looks fabulous on me. It feels classic and solid, fashionable but dependable. Not sure why it’s so cheap, but I am game.

The likelihood is that I will wear it maybe twice this season, when I go home to Virginia and if I decide to take a trip somewhere else where a wool coat might be a practical choice . . . as I watch the man in front of me bend over in his navy Tommy Hillfiger jogging shorts. Am I the only one wearing a jacket in this place?