for most of my youngest years, I remember summer garbage nights vividly. my father would take me "garbage picking". I remember riding my bike around the neighborhood, checking out the piles at the street. And if there happened to be a wonderful antique chair, table or small treasure, home it would come with us.
I wonder where I got my love of discarded junque from? could it be those wonderful summer nights, where the fireflies are lighting up the skies? Could it be the farm auctions in the sticks of Illinois that thrilled my tiny little being with the excitement of the auctioneer and shrieks of glee? or could it have been the junk shop we used to wander the dirty aisles of on a Saturday morn?
Ah, Dad...love you so much! Happy Father's Day...from your littlest girl, me. (found this chandelier on the street...)
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