How much better do I feel after thrift herding at SVDP today?
A lot!
One of my funnest things happened:
I recognized something unusual in the donation mountain.
Mostly you uncover the same sort of stuff, and a shift can go by without an amazing find; but today, mixed in with a box of well-used, modern action figures was . . .
Was that . . . ?
It was!
MIDGE!!!
The real deal, too, though I had to ask the cashier to use her young eyes to be sure. She read the teensy-tiny stamp on Midge's butt:
"1960, by Mattel"
Midge is a smidge older even than me.
And rattling around with her was what's-his-name.
Allan.
Allan?
I had to look him up.
According to the box (which sadly did not come with our Allan):
If you're a certain age, you may remember these:
[I didn't have my camera with me---these photos are off eBay. Our Midge was wearing a red one-piece swimming suit.]
I recognized them instantly (Midge, anyway), even though my parents wouldn't let us have Barbies. Or toy guns, or comic books.
Or to chew gum or eat sugary breakfast cereal either.
Or watch daytime TV or join the Girl Scouts.
Tragic, eh? As I always say, my parents' refusniking made me want these things more.
One of the things I love about thrift herding is that the river of junk delivers childhood memories and desires right––blammo!––there at your feet.
Now I could have Midge, I don't want her, of course.
But I entirely enjoyed washing the dolls and their dirty clothes in the sink, pricing them ($10 each) (reasonable--they're "collectibles"), and putting them on the shelves where you have to ask the cashier for them.
(In general I don't mind shoplifters, but when I've done a lot of work to prepare something, then I don't want it stolen. Partly because I like to ask the cashier about its sale––like, who bought it?––it's part of the fun of the story.)
For myself, I bought an old tin made in England with a doll on it (and, one might say, a nice example of socially constructed gender performance
), a paper of pins, a bottle of handmade button-flowers, and a little wood ruler distributed by the Police Officer's Federation, pre–9-1-1
––all for $2.08.
Yes, so. Me and Spring Green, we are restored to our selves.
My big thing this week is an appointment, my first, with a job coach on Friday. Per her assignment, I am writing a complete resumé of every job, paid and unpaid, I have done in my entire life.
A lot!
One of my funnest things happened:
I recognized something unusual in the donation mountain.
Mostly you uncover the same sort of stuff, and a shift can go by without an amazing find; but today, mixed in with a box of well-used, modern action figures was . . .
Was that . . . ?
It was!
MIDGE!!!
The real deal, too, though I had to ask the cashier to use her young eyes to be sure. She read the teensy-tiny stamp on Midge's butt:
"1960, by Mattel"
Midge is a smidge older even than me.
And rattling around with her was what's-his-name.
Allan.
Allan?
I had to look him up.
According to the box (which sadly did not come with our Allan):
"He's Ken's buddy! All of Ken's Clothes Fit Him!"Draw your own conclusion.
If you're a certain age, you may remember these:
I recognized them instantly (Midge, anyway), even though my parents wouldn't let us have Barbies. Or toy guns, or comic books.
Or to chew gum or eat sugary breakfast cereal either.
Or watch daytime TV or join the Girl Scouts.
Tragic, eh? As I always say, my parents' refusniking made me want these things more.
One of the things I love about thrift herding is that the river of junk delivers childhood memories and desires right––blammo!––there at your feet.
Now I could have Midge, I don't want her, of course.
But I entirely enjoyed washing the dolls and their dirty clothes in the sink, pricing them ($10 each) (reasonable--they're "collectibles"), and putting them on the shelves where you have to ask the cashier for them.
(In general I don't mind shoplifters, but when I've done a lot of work to prepare something, then I don't want it stolen. Partly because I like to ask the cashier about its sale––like, who bought it?––it's part of the fun of the story.)
For myself, I bought an old tin made in England with a doll on it (and, one might say, a nice example of socially constructed gender performance
), a paper of pins, a bottle of handmade button-flowers, and a little wood ruler distributed by the Police Officer's Federation, pre–9-1-1––all for $2.08.
Yes, so. Me and Spring Green, we are restored to our selves.
My big thing this week is an appointment, my first, with a job coach on Friday. Per her assignment, I am writing a complete resumé of every job, paid and unpaid, I have done in my entire life.
Ah yes, the days of Barbie, Ken, Allan, Midge, and Skipper. I had and still have all of them. My Ken had flocked hair which wore off because his carrying case was smidge small. My Barbie had the blonde bubble hair and Midge was red-headed. Skipper was also long blonde hair. One of my aunts knitted small outfits for them and I still have some of the hand-sewn outfits I made for them. I even bought Barbie her own Corvette (plastic molded).
ReplyDeleteIsn't it interesting to hear what parents allowed/not allowed their kids to do: no white bread in our house (only whole grain), no soft drinks, no phone calls after 10 at night, no sugary breakfast cereals.We also didn't have a TV while going up (lots of reading).
Such fun to find things you really didn't anticipate!
Writing up all the jobs in your life sounds quite interesting. You may find there is more overlap than expected.
Kirsten
Wow, you still have your dolls, Kirsten? And some of their handmade outfits?
ReplyDeleteThat's great!
I wish Blogger let commenters post photos, so I could see. [They don't do anything to keep this site up to date anymore.]
You could start a blog and post pictures...
--Fresca (signed into my Frex account)
I think I had both Midge and Alan...and every other Barbie thing imaginable. My mother must have wanted it all, because I don’t remember ever asking for anything Barbie related; though I did enjoy picking out clothes for her (in the Sears toy department?). Even as a kid I found Barbie’s world vapid...but Ken did make a dashing Lawrence of Arabia, and the whole set were more fun when thrown to the lions in Ancient Rome.
ReplyDeleteBINK: Throw Barbie to the lions! Their dull lives needed a little spicing up, that's for sure.
ReplyDeleteI'm just wondering---who was the lion? Did you have a stuffed lion?