100/365
Sometimes I find the oddest things when I'm poking around thrift shops.
Sometimes I find things that I haven't either the faintest idea what in the world they are, or what their purpose is in life.
Sometimes I find things that not only do I know what they are, and what they're for, but that are part of my childhood memories.
This sewing basket is like one my Mom had, except hers was red instead of yellow. I hadn't thought of that sewing basket in YEARS. But there its (almost) twin was, on the shelf. I didn't buy it, because I have a sewing basket of my own that doesn't get used much.
When she was growing up, her family was not dirt-poor, but definitely had to watch their money. My Grandma sewed the family's clothes; when my Mom was old enough, she sewed her own. I, on the other hand, am seemingly incapable of operating a sewing machine.
I remembered all the cool thread colors Mom had, and the various sized needles for different things. She had a tomato pincushion dealie, but she also had a weird one that she could wear on her wrist when she sewed. There were buttons that went to who-knows-what, and random pieces of elastic, velcro, and other flotsam and jetsam in the bottom. There were 3 pairs of scissors (regular, pinking shears, and embroidery ones) and a threader dealie that helped me learn to thread a needle.
Sometimes I find more than things in thrift stores. Sometimes I find a piece of my past that I haven't thought about in years.
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