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Pique N your Interest

In search of the perfect Victorian nutmeg grinder

Technically speaking, spring has sprung although the snow and the chilly temperatures this week could convince you otherwise.

It's that time of year again, when people shed their old winter skins and break out their flip-flops and sunscreen in preparation for the coming months.

It's the magical season of rebirth and regeneration.

Along those same lines, spring is also traditionally the season of spring-cleaning, of purging homes of unwanted clutter and chaos and making things fresh again.

That can mean only one thing - it's garage sales galore time.

As garage sales have been the bane of my existence for as far back as I can remember, I never thought I would find myself shuffling through clothes, sifting through paperbacks and board games and examining kitchenware last weekend.

But there I was at Base II at the 24-hour Garage Sale Relay, revelling in the bargains that were up for grabs. Golf shirts and shorts, jigsaw puzzles and books, there was something there for everyone.

And it was with an ever-so-slight sense of exhilaration when I handed over my $10 in return for the handful of goodies in my arms.

Not only that, all the proceeds from this sale went to the Easter Seal camp in Squamish for children with disabilities.

Garage sales have been popping up everywhere in the last few weeks.

One of my friends in Vancouver just had a garage sale and made $600. She had two years of collected stuff tucked away into various nooks and crannies in her apartment.

She was only hoping to make about $300 so it was unbelievable to her to make so much on stuff that was on its way to the dump - hundreds of dollars on old paperbacks and ancient CDs going for a buck each.

She was shocked that people were actually paying money to take away her garbage.

It just goes to show that one man's crap is another man's gold.

I found it so strange that I had such a good time delving into someone else's disregarded stuff this weekend, when years before I had vowed to never own anything second-hand when I grew up.

I guess that was before I had ever thought about paying for phone bills, power bills, cable bills, rent, food, etc.

And there I was thinking for all those years that it just grew on trees.

Garage sales and auctions have been a part of my life from my early days. Every book I ever owned had someone else's name scrawled into the flip side of the front cover.

Every record had somebody else's scratches on it.

Lego, Barbie's, games - all belonged to somebody else before they found a home with me.

My parents are fanatical in their garage sale adventures. Every spring and summer morning revolves around them. And surprisingly, they aren't the only diehards.

There are hundreds, nay thousands, of shoppers like them who diligently search out bargains and deals and who truly enjoy the haggle and the subtle tug o war over a measly quarter.

Not to forget the eternal search for that priceless antique - that's the quest that truly drives them out of bed on a rainy spring morning before six.

There have been some successes on that front. There was the painting they bought at an auction that has been appraised at a price much higher than what they paid for it.

And there have also been some failures. The most prominent of which is the story of the "amber" jewelry that turned out to be merely orange plastic.

When it all comes down to it though, it's not really even about priceless antiques. It's really all about the elusive search.

It's the dusty, dark downtown rooms. It's the crazy melee of a church jumble sale. It's the thrill of the roadside haggle. It's finding one more item to add to a collection of 19 th century glass lampshades or Victorian nutmeg grinders or, god forbid another commemorative plate of the Royal family.

And watching the Antiques Roadshow just spurs them on to even greater finds.

In fact, 20 minutes of my last phone call home was about a lady who had appeared on the show who had bought a rare 18 th century ring for $100 and it was actually worth $4,000.

I got a complete description of the ring and a verbatim report of what the expert relayed back to the lucky women. It was gripping conversation.

My parents maintain that the older something is, the better - of course, they're not getting any younger themselves.

I maintain that they just use this as an excuse to buy more and more stuff that ultimately sits in basement boxes, collecting more and more dust.

I call it junk. They call it my inheritance.

They also maintain that while their furniture may be uncomfortable and the china might not have the latest pattern and the books are old and tattered, or "well-loved," that's what makes these things unique.

When I mentioned that I had been at a garage sale this weekend, it just might have been one of their proudest moments.

And when I mentioned that I'm planning on furnishing my room with various garage sale paraphernalia instead of Ikea, they were likewise thrilled.

Unlike them I'm not interested in antiques, rather just having enough money to pay the bills.