Second Hand Roses

Cats in couches

noreply@blogger.com (Dawn) — Fri, 13 Mar 2009 17:46:00 +0000

There's a funny story about a woman who apparently got more than she bargained for when she went thrifting the other day. Apparenlty Ms Mendenhall bought a used couch for $27 at Value Village near her home.

Then the noises started. She looked all over to no avail until her boyfriend, felt something underneath him as he sat on the couch. Moving it, he was astonished to find a ravenous kitty cat who had evidently found a hole in the back and stowed away.

Long story short, after bringing the kitty to her animal shelter and contacting the news outlets, the owner was reunited with his cat, having lost all hope of finding her after he had donated his old couch.

It seems the hidden benefits of thrifting sometimes go undetected until much later.

You can't take it with you

noreply@blogger.com (Dawn) — Tue, 24 Feb 2009 14:25:00 +0000

The transiency of life cannot be better expressed than when one visits a secondhand store or garage sale. Items that may have been vitally important to the current owner now lay scattered amongst other bric a brac of a life's journey, some more curious than others. The nondescript Bundt cake pan, once used for many a family party, now sits next to a knitted potholder, a long-ago gift from an ancient relative now long past. Both have outlived their usefulness to the seller and await new hands to breathe life into them once more. Baby buggies that once carted little ones to the park in days gone by now hold slightly ragged, overly loved stuffed animals; their purposes outgrown and their appeal long gone.

Such is life. When we finally leave this Earth, it is starkly true; you can't take it with you. We return to dust without all the stuff that up to now has defined us and we meet our maker (or whatever destination) with only our essence intact.

Where's My Bailout?

noreply@blogger.com (Dawn) — Wed, 11 Feb 2009 01:39:00 +0000

I don't get it. The banks have had their bailout dollars, the auto companies are petitioning for money, the real estate industry has its hand out, even Larry Flynt wants some of Uncle Sam's dough. I, like many of my friends, all hardworking individuals who have paid their bills on time, kept up with mounting interest rates and the continual threat of layoff, simply wonder when the money will flow to us.

Specifically, I need a new couch! My nine-year-old loveseat, a formerly fabulous green leather setee, now sags lower than an overloaded station wagon on bad leafsprings, its foam innards peeking through popped seams resembling some sort of B-movie monster with bad teeth. Sitting on it has become more of an adventure than a relaxing event; you're never sure if the springs will bite you in areas best left untouched, and the holes threaten to devour every last dime from your pocket.

So here's my pitch to Congress: Bail out all those big fancy guys but if you've got a couple hundred to spare, could you send it my way so I can finally retire old Bessie?

I'd freecycle the darn thing but I'm afraid a small rat family will take up residence before the guy-who-promised-he'd-show-up-yesterday-for-sure-this-time turns up, if at all.