… and today after orchestra practice the Great Mystery’s message was “Go to the Marden’s in Lewiston.”
I swear I’m not making this up.
(For the non-local folks: Marden’s Surplus and Salvage is a Maine chain that deals in… stuff. You name it, they’ve probably sold it at some point. Food in damaged packing, discontinued furniture, overstocked clothing, shoes in all the weird sizes, knick-nacks and hardware and tools, crushed or wrinkled or damp or smoke-stained or missing a button or in perfect condition in the wrong place or at the wrong time. If it doesn’t sell fast enough somewhere else, it ends up at Marden’s. It’s a total crapshoot what, if anything, you’re going to find, but it’s nearly always fun to go look.)
I hit the jackpot. Holy Granola!
They’d gotten a pile of last season’s clothing in the style and sizes I wear, which is unusual – I’m in between size ranges right now and have to try on five things to find one that doesn’t squish here or sag there or just plain look stupid. So I have several new pairs of pants that FIT THE BUTT I HAVE RIGHT NOW (one of which, yes, I need to put a button on – but they had buttons today, and I found some suitable ones for 50 cents. As we say around here, can’t beat that with a stick.)
I mention this only because this is how life works when I let it. I am a bit too rational to go around earnestly telling people that God tells me when to go shopping, because I do not want to be thought one of those crazy religious people who sees sacred images in the coffee stains on their tablecloth, but when I am listening to my soul and the Universe, and I have a good idea what I need, She whispers to me where to go find it.
I need to do some laundry now, and also put some old stuff into the rummage sale box.