Until I moved to Australia 'garage sales' were just words in the advertisement column of the local newspaper. I imagined a lot of folks, extremely interested in what the seller not only had to offer, but why. How wrong can one be!
I now live in Australia, and suddenly garage sales are exciting. Treasures abound in every corner; each weekend is a time of wondering ... what might be someone else's 'no longer needed item' that I would so love to own.
In the beginning I purchased dishes, the type that I had left behind in New Zealand simply because there is only so much one can transport across the Tasman Sea. Of course books are always a drawcard ... so much so we need another bookcase.
At the weekend we attended another garage sale, and while much of what was on offer was children's clothing and books; neither of which we had any use for, there were some treasures to be found. Inside the open garage several tables were covered with assorted items, and perched on the top of a precarious pile of bed-linen lay a baby doll. Poor little doll ... its stuffing was thin, but such a delightful expression on her face [this doll was obviously a little girl doll] there was no resisting picking her up. The price read 20cents!
We wandered around the half circle of tables; several beige dishes with pink flowers and deep green leaves beckoned. But ... in all seriousness we need no more dishes.
Then I spied another doll. This doll was a boy; he was a sleeping doll, and the price was $2. Why, I wondered, the difference in price. I offered $2 each for the dolls; the deal was done.
I have always been one to name dolls, or dogs, or cats, pet lambs ... the list is long. My first doll had a porcelain head, the rest of her body was cloth. She was named Daphne as I so loved the perfume of the daphne bush. I pushed her around in the cane pushchair that my brother and I had been pushed around in. Daphne came to a sticky end ... my brother [a year younger than I] tipped her out, and Daphne suffered from a broken skull ... sadly unmendable!
Promises were made that I would be given another doll. This never happened until I was about 10 or 11 years old, almost too old for a doll. Instead of a walkie talkie doll that I could have chosen I picked a doll that had a perming kit for her hair, and, joy of joy, patterns for making clothes. I found out that dolls hair does not grow after a hair cut ... her long hair became short hair. That hair could be permed and primped ... and it was.
I sewed a blue taffeta ball gown with two outer layers of tulle for this doll, who strangely enough, was never given a name. I sewed dresses with matching knickers, I knitted a lavender double-breasted coat, with a slit up the back and pockets and small back belt.
But these two small dolls at the garage sale are delightful. When mentioning to the lady running the garage sale they needed names. She suggested Kate and Jordan, the names of her children. I instantly replied that I thought she was going to say Kate and Will ... these little baby dolls have names. I won't forget when I found them lying in a garage offered for sale because the children of the house had outgrown them.
Kate is thin ... I will need to carefully open her side seams and add a little stuffing. Will and Kate both need clothes ... a little project for the cool days of winter. As they sit in the rocking chair Kate is telling Will some scintillating tale, but he does appear uninterested. Perhaps she is wanting to share a sweetie?
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