Flea Markets Redux

I love flea markets. I have mentioned this before in this space. Winter sucks for many reasons but the dearth of flea markets ranks right up there with shoveling and paying the plow guy. So it was with no little sense of elation that we did the rounds of the local flea markets for the first time last weekend. We hit the Garden Drive-in at Hunlock Creek before the birds were up. Flea markets are great for people watching. In fact I enjoy a stroll around the grounds seeing the various examples of Gods handy work almost more than I do bargain priced items. This weekend past was no exception. There was the girl who stooped in front of me to tie her shoe. Honest, I tried not to look but her Technicolor tramp stamp drew my eye like a moth to flame. She was accompanied by a dog slightly larger than a robin. Good thing this little terror was on a leash. It barked a frenzy at a Bull Mastiff the size of a locomotive like it would tear its throat out if it could just get at it. The large dog just eyed the tiny thing. Then there was wardrobe malfunction girl, who had bright red hair streaked with green, an unfortunate choice of glasses that resembled Woody Allen’s to go with her belly shirt that did little to hide her big belly, her jeans that were ripped but not in a fashionable way and her sneakers with the fluorescent orange soles. I am sure her house has no mirrors as they most likely exploded. And the conversations you over hear. Now that we have a large percentage of good folks who speak other than English here in NEPA I have noticed exchanges in those languages are all done at TOP VOLUME. I have no idea what they are saying but I sure can hear it. But back to the bargains. A row of brightly colored banners that were proudly displayed with a large sign claiming they were “Falgs.” Swing and a miss. A stack of cages with roosters, bunnies, peahens and ducks. 3 for $15 dollars, your choice, mix and match. A display of odds and ends that looked like it was moved intact from somebody’s attic. Cardboard boxes full of stuff that defies description. And so we shopped and strolled and bought on a perfect Sunday morning. My purchases? Hot sauce for my eggs, expired in 2009 – A previously viewed CD of the HBO series “Carnivale” asking price $40-paid $20 – Granola bars, also expired in 2009 – and to wash them down with, a bottle of 1985 Dom Perignon (!) $30. Only at the flea market.