I don't think that Silas has inherited my thrifting gene. Or, if he has, it has yet to be expressed. He enjoys playing with the tags when I look at clothes at Goodwill, but as soon as I stray to housewares, he gets bored, bored, bored. Perhaps he's in cahoots with Steve to keep me from bringing home any more dishware. Sorry, fellas, it's going to take more than that.
I must have a dearth of pottery in my home, because that's what I've been drawn to lately; this set of glasses and little jug coming home with me on my last trip out. Plus I scored this back issue of Found Magazine. Are you familiar? I've been a lover of it from way back, but could never justify its purchase. But, for 88 cents I couldn't say no. The whole magazine is filled with notes and photographs that people find and then submit. I love, love, love this concept. My absolute favorite are the lists that people make. What a window into someone's psyche, huh?
When I worked at the bookstore in college we used to find the most random things in textbooks that students would sell back at the end of the semester: checks, birthday cards, love letters, photographs of drunken debacles. I have several that I've kept all these years with the intention of submitting, but I never have. I even have a "found" email that randomly showed up in my inbox one day in the late 90s and was clearly written by a grandparent who was just becoming familiar with the technology. It opened with "my fishbox boom bang." The rest made about as much sense.