Flea market family fantasy
Loud and About Column by Heija Nunn
I have been forever fascinated by the idea of selling at a flea market. But the idea of getting strangers to pay me for the things I choose has always been super scary. Nevertheless I let my son, Sweetie Boy, convince me to rent a booth at the Fremont Sunday Market.
On the eve of our first booth I was tired and cranky. We arrived in Fremont with four times more stuff than we needed and not a clue about what we were doing.
The day flew by. My heart glowed when customers clapped their hands at finding their new favorite thing. And it was thrilling to watch people fall in love with a piece of art or pick up a weird thing for the very same reasons I bought it.
We found new homes for things like a Guinness beer poster, the bug painting I patiently hunted over two days, baskets, ice buckets, a Hobbit puzzle, jewelry and art glass.
Near the end of the day the chicest woman in Seattle held up a painting Sweetie Boy had insisted on buying. He gave her his price, she offered less. He countered. She stayed firm and then she walked away in an elegant gust. Sweetie Boy was speechless, I was impressed.
Near the end of the day his elegant quarry returned. As she picked out a set of cordials (and I firmly believe she will actually use them) Sweetie Boy jumped in to tell her she could have his painting for her price to which she graciously agreed and even more graciously spared him any signs of “I win!”
That night I sat down next to daughter Sistafoo on the sofa to watch a movie. I had a glass of wine in one hand and my iPad in the other. About five minutes later Sistafoo yelped and I felt a damp trickle on my leg. I had fallen asleep sitting up. I poured wine on Sistafoo’s shoulder (barely tasted, I will point out) finally giving her something to share with future therapists.
We had so much fun that first time we did it again on another Sunday.
In the past month I have talked to many people who have also wanted to have a flea market booth or pursue another bashful dream. I am 44 now and can’t believe I let this much time pass between scary leaps and I don’t plan to let it happen again. Maybe the real reason Nike shoes are so collectible has less to do with fashion than passion. Because “Just Do It” is valuable advice indeed.
Follow Heija on Twitter (@Heija), friend her on Facebook or silently judge her life at her blog, The Worst Mother in the World.