![]() ![]() It smelled like that old Soviet submarine we visited in Estonia. I removed the cover and was hit by a powerful scent I recognized: machine oil. But Friday was a day that really pegged the meter in my estate sale experience with Carrington.Ĭarrington, whose crafting impulse tends toward writing, boys, chickens and her garden, had two comments: “That thing looks like a trip to the sewing machine repair shop to me.” And, seeing my crestfallen expression: “Well, plug it in.” It can be kind of great to adopt a departed lady’s Gingher scissors. There is usually a plastic bag filled with straight knitting needles, crochet hooks, and yarn ranging from Red Heart to Bucilla. There are always unfinished cross stitch kits, Simplicity patterns, and a mending basket. Estate sales these days tend to involve women’s homes that have been inhabited since 1966. It was high-density work.Įvery single yard sale I have attended with Carrington involves a moment when I unearth the Craft Zone. This time, we ate one granola bar and hit four sales in 90 minutes. ![]() On a number of occasions we have aimed for lunch but instead hit yard sales, which in Nashville are a never-ending opportunity to contemplate the arc of life, the human compulsion to collect pointless crap, and to negotiate the price of something from $1 to a quarter. On Friday, I was due for lunch with my friend Carrington. ![]()
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