Thrift store, angels cards, and seeing myself

Browsing through the books at the thrift store, I overhead an elderly couple while they were looking at knick-knacks. "How cute, look at this," she said, excitement in her voice. I turned from the books to look at a nearby table that held various items. I stole a look to see what the woman had found. "I'm going to get these."

"What are they?," her elderly companion asked. He peered down through his thick square glasses. "Why, there salt and pepper shakers. How much are these?" She turned one shaker, then tilted it upside down to find the price. She gave a laugh, "Only 99 cents!" 

I saw that these salt and pepper shakers were small. One was light blue and the other a  rosy pink. I couldn't tell what the shapes were, but I thought I heard the woman say Casper the Ghost. I continued looking through a little basket of cards and my eyes spotted a package of blank note cards. Four plump angel babies against a backdrop of sky with wispy clouds. One angel is drinking from what looks to be a golden horn, while the others fly through the air with great joy on their fleshy faces.

The face of the notecard also has six lovely sayings about angels. I felt uplifted at reading each one.

I was ready to checkout with two books and the angel notecards. Then I saw a pair of pants and while I was looking at them, I heard the woman say to her companion "Oh! Look at this!" 

"Try it on." Her companion was supportive and kind, his voice on the low end compared to her exuberance. 

She held the blouse up to her body and looked down. "This is too gaudy."

"Oh, it's just fine. It would look nice on you."

She begins noticing other little things and I am touched by her joy–humbled and inspired by this woman who could be in her late seventies to early eighties. I am drawn in to her energy and I can't help but smile. Her joy reaches me and fills me, and I realize I feel as though I am looking in a mirror; I am seeing my life flash before me.

When I get home, later that evening, I tell my significant other about my experience. I tell him that it was just like watching myself and that her companion was like him in that he was there by her side–then I hesitate and say, "Well, he may have been a bit more supportive." And we both laugh because we know...because sometimes I notice things too much and vocalize my excitement and it can tend to overload him. 

Older folks hold a special place in my heart and this moment was a gift to me and lighted my day just as the angel cards did.

"Angels are bright lights in the midst of our lives.

Nothing is hidden and everything is seen by angels.

Angels can fly because they take themselves lightly.

Music is well said to be the speech of angels.

Angels shine their light on us so that we may see more clearly.

Beautiful visions for the world are dreamt by angels."

Rubber Stamps

Over the weekend I was in the mood to go thrift store browsing. We stopped at one that is a quaint cottage style shop. It looks like it used to be a small home. It took me a while to get past the entrance of books stacked to greet visitors. I found two. Then as I edged my way into the store I was plopped right into Halloween: Cobwebs, Halloween jars, a strangely wicked old wooden puppet on a string; purples and silver; orange glimmering. It was a visual whirlwind of razzle-dazzle all around this small cottage.

My eyes darted as though following a maze, viewing all the interesting items. Something caught my eye that was nestled among some Halloween knick-knacks. It was a bag of rubber stamps. I crouched down to take a closer look. They were wooden stamps. Childhood was nearby. I remembered how much I loved rubber stamps as a child and the different ones flooded into my memory bank—Hello Kitty, farm animals, date stamps, smiley face stamps, and other random novelty stamps I’d collected as a child.

I turned the bag over in my hand to see if I could see what was on these stamps. I recognized the company—The Oakland Stamp Company—and how my older brother had a custom stamp made for me as a gift. I loved that stamp. It had my name and address in beautiful script letters. I was too young to pay bills; as I grew old enough to have more reason to use it appropriately, I began stamping the return address on envelopes for bills and letters. So when I saw this bag of stamps, I felt that I wanted it. It was $10.  Not bad, a little more than I wanted to spend. As I turned the bag of stamps over in my hands, trying to peek inside without opening it, I saw that they told a unique story and I wanted them. Some of the stamps I could see were “beef stew,” “ground round,” a cat, “in confidence,” other creatures, and “have a nice life.”

I suppose that nostalgia go a hold of me. I  hold on not  with a tight grip, rather with a loose string connected to a past that slips by, not a straight string, but one that has offshoots that go in all directions. I want to have a little something so simple to sit there beside the other advancements that inevitably replace that which is deemed no longer relevant.