The thing I love about flea markets is that everything there has a story to tell. All you have to do is listen carefully…
Sometime it’s a story about someone you know – or even about yourself.
This could almost be the very typewriter my Mum bought when I was about ten. She meant for it to be used for business… but it didn’t take long for me to discover that I could write stories on it. It had a hard case for protection . I almost wore the keys out writing stories about heroes on big white horses, and girls having wonderful adventures.
The bits of a flea market that I love best are the personal items… particularly the jewellery.
You occasionally hear stories of hugely valuable pieces being bought for a few dollars in a flea market. That’s never happened to me… and if I’m going to be honest, I probably wouldn’t be able to tell the difference between the real thing and a fake.
But what is very real to me, is the story behind each of these pieces of jewellery.
Some of them are quite old. Some are copies of valuable pieces that may have graced the windows of Cartier or Tiffany.
Today they are on a table at a flea market – but once they must have been worn with pride.. perhaps with love.
Did some young man save his hard-earned cash to buy one of these for the girl he hoped to marry? If I opened a locket, would I find a faded photo of the man it’s wearer loved?
Did a mother pass on her one precious possession to a daughter?
Which piece saw more love or happiness – the diamond encrusted gold brooch bought on 5th Avenue, or the cut glass copy?
There are stories at every flea market.
I’ll be listening again next time I go, and maybe one day, I’ll get to pass those stories on to you in a book.