I must confess I have an addiction.
Things of old made new again call to me. Not just antiques but furniture made from discarded doors, old windows, and unusual hardware. Those are my favorite.
I’m afraid it doesn’t stop there either.
If I were rich I could be dangerous.
You see, I am a Junker. There is no known cure. In fact, I don’t want to be cured. I don’t. I admit that.
The problem is the Mr. and I have recently been discussing down-sizing. You know, getting rid of the things that we don’t actually need and living on a smaller scale. I walk through my house and see lots of things I could let go of. I could have an estate sale tomorrow and that would not bother me. I don’t emotionally attach to things.
It’s the junking that I don’t want to let go of. It’s finding an old trunk and turning it into a coffee table. It’s the hunt for a bargain. It’s the thrill of a score. How will I feed my addiction?