"I wear your grandmas clothes, I look incredible, I'm in this big arse coat, from that op shop down the road"

Sorry Macklemore - I had to take some creative license and borrow some lyrics and give them the Australian twist.

So I'm here to talk about op shops this week - a topic thats been zipping around in my noggin since last weeks blog. In case you were wondering what an op shop is, it's the abbreviated term for an "opportunity shop" which here in the USA would be called a thrift shop. Some also call them "oppies" back in the land Down Under. And I have a long history with op shops actually which goes a long way to explaining the job I have today.

But before I get into all that, please let me explain photos. It's been hell weather here for the past week with barely a lick of decent sunshine to brighten our days. Just when we thought the snow was departing for good, it snowed again.......and then started to melt. And then snow again. I'm not going to bitch about the weather today though, just explaining that there was not a great day for taking photos of clothing or anything exciting at all. I did snap some shots of roasted pumpkin seeds yesterday but just haven't had the druthers to do anything about it all. Hopefully next week! A good solid day of sunshine will rejuvenate me and get me back on track.

Above photos are of an angelic little lass, full of a life ahead, of innocence and no inkling of what the years ahead would bring. I'm not ashamed to say, I was CUTE!! The newborn shot was taken pretty much 42 years ago today in a difference country, different time zone in a small town called Seymour in Victoria. Thanks Mum and Dad for making me - I'm glad you didn't give up because the other two were defective. Ha! I love my elder sisters but I now and shall always remain, the sweet youngest and my halo still glows bright.....I'm saying all this because I know the elders sisters shan't read this and won't ever give me grief on here at least so I can get away with whatever I want! It's a party!

I don't feel 42 years old, I wasn't even too thrilled about the idea of turning another year older this year. I enjoyed 40, that was great. But 42 for some reason was not appealing to me until I read something about aging is a privilege that some people are denied. And that kicked me up the cooter and I figured I'd just accept it and move on. I type this so I have this reminder each year - maybe I need to find that quote and slap it on the fridge.

Anyway, back to the fun topic of op shops. My first memory of an op shop was as a very young child, going to town with my Mum and stopping in the local oppy shoppy which was enclosed in a small ramshackle building nearing the end of the Main Street. I cant give you a full visual but have faint memories of windows at the front, a lady inside who looked about 100 years old, a small room at the back with another window and loads of clothing and random things. I recall thinking that this was a fascinating place and wasn't aware until years later that for some, shopping in the op shop meant that your family was not going through life with a ton of riches. And as my childhood was often spent on the lower end of the income scale, this meant getting clothing and such from the op shop. 

Being too young to know what a despairing thing this was, I remained blissfully ignorant but I guess the elder sibs had some awareness and are to this day, not big fans of buying anything from an oppy. Maybe they are more open to it now but in our teens and such, being seen in an op shop had a tinge of shame attached.

Years flew by, my parents found their feet and we started to wear new clothing and bought new things but that little old op shop still held some intrigue for me - I recall stopping in there a few times when I was in my late teens just to look around and can almost picture my little self toddling around in the store, playing with toys and hiding under the racks of clothing. That little shop is now long gone, torn down many years ago I'd imagine and I cant even remember what was there last time I visited that part of the world but the memory of it sits in the grey matter and I know now that I must have had a junkers heart even back then.

Now the op shop was fun but let me tell you all about the "tip" - the glorious, stinky place that as a child was like some bizarre and post apocalyptic playground for us local kids. The tip was a few miles out of town and I should translate because the tip as it is known would be referred to here as "the dump" - yeah, we played at the dump. Such sanitary fun to be had off a dirt road, up on the hill. And the best part of all, Mum was the one to take us out there in search of treasure!!!! We may have whined about it at the time but honestly, it was all in good fun and believe it or not, there were treasures to be found. While I don't recall much of anything unearthed out there, I do remember Mum getting a great side cabinet that she took home and lovingly cleaned up and fixed up. Chip off the old block much? And another local lady was ferreting around out there and discovered an old hair drying case - you know the type? The ones that were usually in a powder blue vinyl case with a head cap and some strange contraption that plugged in and blew your hair dry under the cap. Anyway, the case was not the find, it was the diamond ring she found in it that was quite the discovery.

As us feral children got older, the novelty of visiting the tip wore off and I think my last trip there was with a friend when I was in mid teens and this I remember clear as day - I got home and Mum asked where I had been and I told her the tip to which she asked if I'd found anything interesting. I unwittingly and blithely replied - "nah, just the usual shit" and then the horror that must have crossed my face upon realizing I said shit in front of my mother, well that thankfully got me off with just a glance and she probably had a good laugh when I slunk off in shame.

I leave home at 18 and start my life - roaming around aimlessly doing various jobs in various places but the one thing remained, anywhere I went, I always somehow was drawn into op shops like a penny to a magnet. Often because I wasn't making my fortune, I'd buy clothing for myself or a little something for the place I was living in at the time. Most times I just liked to walk around and pass the time, looking at anything and everything.

More years pass and I'm in my final Australian destination of Frankston, a lovely coastal suburb on the fringe of the bigger burbs, the final stop before reaching the glorious coastal towns. Held down a good job there, had good friends and was getting along in life - and still I wandered into the op shops!!! Now like here, the op shops have the same purpose and all vary as much. Some are small, some are independent, some are large and connected to organizations like Red Cross or St Vinnies. Some were hidden away discreetly and some were smack dab in the malls. I went to them all - didn't matter to me, I did like the mall one since I worked at the mall and would duck in there during lunch.

While I was making a decent wage, like any young Australian, my social life consisted of going to the pubs and nightclubs at least 3 nights a week so that often left very little for personal items and it almost makes me a little sad to look back and think of how little I cared for myself. I was in a serious relationship at that stage and would think nothing of walking into a designer store to buy something for my boyfriend but for myself, I'd toddle off to the op shop in the hope to find myself a pair of jeans or a coat at a decent price. Even one event we went to, I got my formal dress (floral, peach color, chiffon, flowing and VERY 1970s) from a little op shop and I loved it - still regretting getting rid of that dress now because oddly it made me feel like a million bucks.

And while I know all that sounds a bit sad, I don't regret. When the ex and I spilt, I went and spoiled myself stupid - buying a bunch of new clothing, make up, jewelry and really told myself that it was okay to buy new once in a while. It was ok to look good.

Then I came here. And funny enough I was only chatting with a friend recently about the thrift stores back in Seattle that I visited often. My first memory was a little thrifty just a short walk from our dear house on the water. At that stage of life, I was still unable to work due to the immigration process and didn't have a penny to my name - all my savings had long gone and the MOTH was supporting us both and we were bottom of the barrel poor, pasta roni was a food staple in our house and we considered spending $50 on groceries a luxury. But we managed and did what we could, we were in love and thats all that mattered.

Now one day I started to venture out and look at the town we'd moved to and I stopped at this little thrifty and looked around and much to my amazement, I saw a life preserver - the type sold in gift decor stores and on it was painted the word "Sailaway" which was my husbands email address at the time when we met. Of course my heart flutters and I was so excited because it was $3.00 and his birthday was coming up!!! Eagerly I bounced over to the counter, hoping with all my heart that they would hold it for me for 15 minutes so I could run back to the house and raid the spare change jar that MOTH always had full. Because thats all I had - I had no money of my own and could only rely on that jar in case of diabolical need. And I needed that life preserving ring, I really did!!!

The lady at the counter - tall and somewhat intimidating, almost a carbon copy of Bea Arthur from The Golden Girls, I ask her with all the politeness I had in me if she could please hold that item for me while I zipped home for the cash.......and well, you can almost guess the rest right? She said no. I begged her. She still said no. I even pointed out that if she looked out the door, she would see the house I was going to so I could get money. Still no.

I was shattered but still hopeful so I ran back to the house, grabbed $3.00 and then ran back to the thrift store, the entire trip probably taking me 20 minutes at best and breathlessly I ran back into the store only to find that life preserver sold. Well at least thats what the mean old slapper at the counter told me with a smirk on her face when I inquired if maybe she had just put it back somewhere else? I don't think I've felt so much anger, shame and defeat at the same time. I don't know what I ended up getting Scott for his birthday that year but I remember how heartbroken I was to not get that darn life preserver. And maybe to this day I hold a grudge against that woman for not showing an ounce of compassion or kindness. I still shopped in that little place but much preferred the one further down the road where my shame wasn't hiding in the dusty corners. A few months later, I was finally allowed to work and found a good job and life moved on.

Fast forward quite a few years.....now in Ohio. Now the MOTH is not one for thrift stores, he will go into one if I beg but he'd really rather not. We have some good ones around here and I'll stop in when I can but it's only been the last few years that I've delved into them with gusto because I finally met two gals who love a good thrifty as much as I do!!! The darling and exceptional ninjas - Merlot Ninja and Ginger Ninja. Upon first meeting them, I had no idea I'd found the shopping sisters of my dreams!!!! You see, we each love to go thrifty but absolutely loathe talking to each other while shopping - kind of like talking a walk on a sunny day with a friend through a park - you chat, sure. But when it comes to thrifty, there is no talking in thrifty!!!! There is the odd squee of excitement, the odd grunt, the odd holler across a store if something of interest is found but the rest of the time we prefer to each shop in solitary peace, engrossed in the pursuit of treasure. We don't invade each others space, we share nicely if we find something that might interest the other and then when our shopping adventures end, we chat and giggle and catch up on everything unsaid whilst shopping.

It's perfect. I love it. I love those gals - they are my people. So this is my little tribute to the ninjas if they read this - I raise my tea bags to you both and thank the thrifty gods for bringing you into my life. May the odds be ever in our favor.

And that my poor blog reading friends, is a rather uninspiring read this week for you. Sorry! Warmer days will hopefully bring more excitement. You know now what an op shop is and if you ever go to Australia and are in the mindset to find some goodies, the best oppies are in the churches actually - many will have a side room from the main building that will house a bunch of donated stuff which they sell off to raise funds for the church and charity. Bless their hearts. All full of ladies and the odd bloke, many with hips of steel and hair of blue and all there for the cause of selling stuff at bargain prices and having an afternoon cuppa. Best op shops ever!!

So off I go now, into these final few hours of being 41. Might be time for a beverage. With alcohol! YEAH! And now I'm not so worried about getting older....you want to know why? Because I aspire someday to be one of those wrinkly old blue hairs, working in an oppy....and theres no shame in that. No shame at all!!!

Much love. Peace to all.

Sam. xxxx