Flea market! Flea market! Flea market!

You know how when you're driving down the road, and you see something interesting, and say, "Oh. Garage sale," and what you really mean is, "STOP THE CAAAAAR!!"? (As opposed to those times when you say, "Oh. Fabric store," and you just mean, "I'd never noticed that fabric store before.")

Well, on a road trip in Ontario (or donut country) with my brother, Bruce, and his wife, Tarra, we came up with a method to cover the options. A single mention of a potential stop means, "Oh. A donut shop. There sure are a lot of them in Ontario." And there are. But, naming any roadside attraction three times (for example: "Tim Hortons! Tim Hortons! Tim Hortons!") means, "PULL OVER. NOW."

So today, I and some friends from church had people shouting, “Flea market! Flea market! Flea market!”

I am a fan of flea markets, garage sales, thrift stores, and second-hand shopping in general (we bought our house out of the Buy & Sell). Big fan. Big, big fan.

And as much as I love shopping second hand, I love working a sale.

I love digging through boxes, checking out and sorting all the weird and wonderful items that have been donated. Oh, the mystery (why does this thing Abby donated look so familiar?) and the drama (Hey! I GAVE this to Abby for her birthday!)

I start the day sleep deprived, miss breakfast, haggle with dealers who feel compelled to tell you that every collectible item they pick up is for their grandson/niece/doctor’s favourite cousin (blah, blah, blah. Just pay me.), eat a cruller for lunch (the least nutritionally offensive of donuts) and drink so much tea I’m talking like Woody Woodpecker.

A great day. Great, great, great.

Oh! And I bought Joe Versus the Volcano for $2. Tom Hanks may be embarrassed about it, but I laughed. Quirky. I like it.

But the real topper for the day is that we raised $700 to rebuild homes destroyed by cyclones in India. While $700 doesn’t get you much house in the Lower Mainland, it gets you a lot in a country where the average person makes $350 per year.

All in all, a good day’s work.

What to think about

When Dances With Wolves came out, some of my family and I pondered what our traditional native names would be if our Cree mother had been so inclined. My once-bow-legged brother, Bruce, was labelled "Walked too young." His wife, Tarra: "Shops too much."

But me? Hmmm.

"Talks too fast?"
"Eats too much?" (this from Bruce)
"Kicks real hard." (my response)

I tossed out possibilities, considered them, reconsidered them, thought of variations, ramifications, possible interpretations... I could go on. Really.

"Thinks too much!" (in unison)

Perfect.

I think.

(What would your Dances With Wolves name be?)