Sometimes I hate yard sales; some days I come home empty handed. Today was not one of those days.
I went to one sale that sounded good in the newspaper ad since it said it included old tins, which I collect. I also needed some I could cut up for a class I'll be taking at Art and Soul, making tin collages.
The sellers turned out to be a nice older couple who had cleaned out their attic. They said they had already sold a hundred or more tins but there were still some left.
Most of the pre-1966 tins were $1 and anything newer was 10 cents or a quarter. Why 1966? Because, according to the owner, that's when bar codes came into existence, so it was an easy way to tell which ones were newer reproductions.
He also had a lot of antique bottles (25 cents each) and I cleaned up on those, since I had just used up all my old bottles in a craft project. I had a whole box full of stuff ($5 total), so I drove away happy.
Until I got a couple miles down the road and remembered the folding wire shopping cart I had seen and meant to ask about. I shrugged and kept going, but I kept remembering the cute altered carts with fabric liners I've been seeing photos of in magazines or on people's blogs. That darn cart just kept calling my name. How much could it be? When would I ever find another one? So I turned around and went back.
"I forgot to ask how much you wanted for this," I said, dragging the poor rusty thing over to the old man.
"Oh, 50 cents," he said.
Sometimes I love yard sales.