Ruminating on Rummaging

Today's our church's annual rummage sale, sponsored by the Women's Fellowship.  I've helped out all but one of the last six years, and I wrote this little piece a few years ago:

Fair Trade at the Rummage Sale

Each fall, I volunteer for my church’s rummage sale, sorting clothes the day before. While my actions appear altruistic, I receive much in return. For one thing, I get first crack at the goods. No less meaningful, however, are the precious interactions with other volunteers.

I am a relative newcomer to the sale, and, at 44, among the youngest there. Most of the others are well into their golden years and have been doing this for decades.

Each woman has her domain, which she guards as resolutely as a dog defends its yard. One measures men’s pants and marks them with the correct sizes. Another sorts glassware and cookware, assigning value. Still another, who is blessed with impeccable taste, scrutinizes the better-quality attire, setting prices that are a tad higher than the usual 50¢ or $1.  I spend my time unobtrusively organizing the women's clothing by size, a job that apparently doesn't have as much cachet as the others and hasn't been staked out.

Because I'm on the petite side, the women enjoy finding nice, smaller-sized clothes for me to try on and model for them. Last year, they insisted I buy a gold and black, beaded dress, that I will probably never wear, because it “looked fabulous.” This year, I barely escaped without a bright green wool jacket that was definitely not my taste.

I’ll admit that I enjoy the attention, despite feeling a bit self-conscious. This year, a woman drew me aside and said, "I just have to tell you, you're as cute as a bug's ear!" A little over the top, maybe, but flattering nonetheless, when you're my age.

When lunch is served, I sit quietly, as the others catch up on gossip and grandchildren and reminisce about the colorful characters who are no longer there. This year, one of them turned to me and said, "Someday, you'll be talking about all the crazy old ladies who used to work the rummage sale!" Little does she know I already am.

Inevitably, someone will ask if I have children. In years past, my negative response has brought an awkward pause, as minds frantically search for another course of conversation. This year, however, I eagerly offered that Don and I are adopting a baby from China. At this, everyone beamed and spouted well wishes. There’s nothing like the prospect of a new life to rejuvenate those who have lived much of theirs.

Most people go to rummage sales looking for bargains and maybe a treasure or two, and I'm no exception. I find more at our sale, though -- a priceless exchange between generations. I soak up encouragement from women who are well beyond me in years and wisdom. In return, I offer a reminder of what their lives were like a few decades ago, when perhaps their dress sizes were smaller and their houses fuller. It’s a transaction that I believe leaves us all enriched.

Yesterday's experience was much the same, except for the conversations about children. This year, many of the women asked about Sarah, and I was ready with my new keychain of her latest photos.  It strikes me as more humorous each year when one of the grande-dames of the event tells me how nice it is to see young faces there volunteering, but I'm not complaining.

I did pretty well resisting the pressure to buy clothing that really isn't me, but I did score a few nice pieces.  The "trophy," though, was a window seat toy box for Sarah's room.  I've wanted one for years, and it's been on Don's to-do list to build one, but this one works perfectly!