H is for Hand me Downs

Thanks Ben Huberman for the prompt — write about hand me downs, which I prefer to call hand me ups (sounds more positive than the latter.)

Growing up with three brothers and no older sister, I did not wear hand me downs.  I would have liked to wear my brothers’ jeans, but my mother deemed them unladylike and  so that never happened.

But I did see value in things that other people cast aside.  My life is populated by hoards of things rescued and recycled (no, I am not a hoarder, unless you count my stash of fabric and other odd craft items,)  but I do reclaim, recycle and put to use: old furniture restored and loved;  tablecloths mended (all that’s requite is a centerpiece to cover the repair,) and waiting for a dinner party; old denims salvaged and made into quilts; and speaking of quilts, the one made of old men’s ties was the best of all recycling projects.

My treasures are found at yard sales and thrift stores.  I laughed with my daughter the other day when we talked about ‘Good Will Hunting’ (not the movie, but Goodwill hunting).  Maybe I’ll find ties there for another quilt.

 

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