I always have a delicious sense of anticipation as I travel to the Flea Market at Laurel, Delaware. Just off of Route 13 at the last traffic light heading north through town, is a whole other world with an "old world" flavor. Flea Markets are the decendants of a way of life that fascinates me. Their roots are more closely tied to the first way people started doing 'business' than any other shopping we do. Flea Markets are a mix between a gypsy camp, a carnival, an old country fair, and a medieval gathering.
I can easily feel what I imagine to be a 12th century market atmosphere when I walk around. People, noise, laughter, out in the open, some under tents, all gathered to do business and enjoy the experience of exchanging money for old and used articles. Beat up trucks and station wagons park close to tables. Their trunks gape open to tease with boxes and goodies not yet displayed. I sometimes wonder if people actually live in them.
Canopies rigged from blankets and sheets hang between the tables and trucks to shade the sellers of the wares where tents aren't available. Merchants sit on anything that will do for a chair, and make a day of it. There's a very relaxed energy at a flea market. Drinks and food and kids and dogs spread out around their space, or market stalls.
Tables are loaded with anything and everything you could imagine. And all the things you can't imagine ever existed. I always learn something new when I go to the Flea Market, because people like to talk about their "stuff." "Goodness," I say in wonder as I peer more closely at some obscure object. "People used to use that for what?"
There are as many sides to flea-markets as there are sides to people. Rob, my husband, disappears for a moment and comes walking back with a smile and a coffee mug in his hand. It is black with a skeleton on it and it says, "Name your poison." "I've always wanted a mug like this" he says proudly turning it around for a closer look. I'm just delighted to share in his Flea Market "find." It's nice to have someone who appreciates the market as I do.
And, you can bargain.
"I'll let you have that for three dollars. If I were small enough to wear it, I'd keep it for myself. It's real cute."
I look up from the skirt I am examining and show the woman a spot near the pocket. "It has a tear right here," I say. "Well, in that case I'll let you have it for two dollars" she offers.
"Deal," I say and hand over the money, feeling very good about my bargaining and my buy. The skirt is a faded navy blue eyelet lace material. It's old. I love it. Later in the car on the way home my nine year old son overhears me talking about the tiny hole I need to stitch on the skirt. He pipes up. "I KNOW Mom. I was wondering why you bought that. It's got holes all over it and Dad and me don't want you wearing something where everyone can see your underpants." I was crushed. But then came back with, "That's why we have slips." What do men know about fashion?
I like the philosophy of ecology in a flea market, as well. Why limit our recycling to just aluminum cans and plastics? What about clothes? We never really wear out our clothes before we tire of them. I let my imagination run wild and select clothing I might never consider when shopping in traditional and "costly" clothing stores. Or, on the practical side, I find those rainboots for the kids I can never locate when I need them at K-Mart.
Another one of my favorite buys is used jigsaw puzzles. A quarter can buy me hours of enjoyment. Usually all the pieces are there. So what if someone else has already put it together? I only do my puzzles once, then I donate them to charity to be enjoyed by someone else. So, the cycle of use continues.
And of course, and most avidly, I search for the personal collection items. My old "diner-ware," the real heavy stuff that was used when a cup of coffee was a nickle, fills my shelves at home. I look for old powder compacts, elegant and feminine. I imagine myself sitting in a smokey bar, pulling out my gold compact, opening it up, gazing a moment in the mirror to check my lipstick and then coyly patting the shine on my nose with the puff. For a moment I am Bette Davis. And naturally, old linens and lace and books and prints. My personal collections grow everytime I go flea marketing.
It's just a wonderful and inexpensive way to spend a day. I can go with ten dollars in my pocket and come back with some great deals. Of course, there's that big lamp I SHOULD have bought I muse on my way back home. It was only two dollars I mentally chide myself. But, I find comfort with the thought of my best find of the day. It is a record that may not mean a thing to most, but is a part of my past that had almost disappeared from my memory. The Firesign Theatre Presents, How Can You Be In Two Places At Once When You're Not Anywhere At All. It cost me less than a dollar.
Although you may go with some thought in your mind of what you are looking for, you are always surprised, and end up coming home with something you never dreamed you needed. Like my record. By the time I pull into the driveway I am convinced it was waiting there for me in that old bin, calling out my name. Yes, it was a good day at the Laurel Flea Market I conclude, as I carry my treasures into the house.