Jan. 20, 2010

I have a second-hand life. Hand-me-down, reused, recycled- however you phrase it, my whole life has been marked by thriftiness and repurposing. And it didn’t start out from any intention to be green. After all, becoming your grandparent’s 6th child isn’t due to anyone hugging a tree. Much of what followed has been born out of necessity, chance and a bit of really fantastic fortune.

Throughout my childhood black leaf bags bursting with donations from my uncle’s church were always a cause for celebration. The thin-walled smelly plastic held heaps of amazing and slightly scary clothing styles to choose from. Weekend trips to flea markets and thrift shops also yielded great treasures, so long as everyone kept their patience and a .40 can of Coke in hand.

As I sit here typing, a glance down at my brown and black stained fingers tell me that while I’ve moved far from 2144 Peach Drive, some things will never change. My discolored digits give away the fact that I just finished re-dying a lovely estate Ferragamo bag and a cute little brown (authentic) Coach purse I picked up last night at the local Goodwill. Can I afford to buy these things at full price? Perhaps. Do I want to? Not really.

I haven’t always appreciated the gift for thrift that my grandparent’s meager income and Depression-era values instilled in me. As a teenager I had the unexpected privilege of attending a fairly well-to-do private school, all the while living between a trailer and my grandparent’s two bedroom post-WWII asbestos-shingled house. Uniforms blurred the income lines between my classmates and me, but my penchant for thrift soon drew a horrified reaction from a pair of classmates that would help to firmly place me in the realm of “other” for the rest of high school. It had something to do with a road trip, junk shops and my explaining how to mend a hole in a t-shirt.

Cruising through Goodwill last night I realized that while my standards have changed (just because you appreciate the value of McCoy pottery does not mean you have to buy it), in this period of recession I’m no longer an oddity. No more am I young woman standing shoulder-to-shoulder with only little white-haired ladies telling me how they repurpose shoe racks for planters. In the aisles I now also smile at fashionable-looking women looking at furniture and teenagers ooing and aahing over DKNY jeans that look brand new and ring up for $5 a pair.

My Goodwill trip last night was an odd way to mark my return to my residence from Southeast Asia, but for some as yet undiscovered reason it felt like the right thing to do, although it may have just been a symptom of procrastination. Now that I’ve returned to my home I have to face the thrilling task of packing up for a move to the District. Unfortunately I’m finding that my treasure-seeking habits, while now fairly refined, have led to some clutter blunders. Over the next few weeks I’ll be clearing out my old life to make room for the new. My husband of seven years and I will finally be living in the same country after 3 years apart and we really, really need the space. Wish me luck!