Road Picking

There is a relatively new show on the History Channel called American Pickers. Its about 2 guys (friends since jr. high) that travel the US in search of 'hidden gold'--the "the Honey Pot" as they call it.  Hubby and I watch this show all the time.  We sit there watching, laughing and wondering about the craziness of it all. These 2 guys have a real business where they dig around old sheds, basements and barns. They buy other people's trash. And call it treasures. And then re-sell it for double the price they bought it for.

I secretly think I could be a collector of hidden treasures. Of trash. I've got it in my bones--sunk way down deep in my DNA. My grandfather (J.R.) was a king at collecting junk. He would stop in the middle of the road to pick up a forgotten tennis ball. My crazy Aunt Velmarine (J.R.'s sister) is a queen. She has mountains of "treasures" piled up in her TX home. I know I could easily succumb to collecting.

So, hubby and I made up this scenerio while driving up to Salt Lake City.  As a hobby during retirement, we would take the 'picking' one step further. We would be Road Pickers--'cause we're too lazy and fearful to pick thru peoples old barns and basements (mostly me because I don't like crawly things) We would pick-up stuff from the road.  We laugh like loons about this. The kids even started making up a theme song for business. We laugh mostly because all we've seen to pick are broken coolers and hubcaps and trash. What a business.

Well, I had my first 'Road Picking' experience the other day while I was doing my morning walking excerise.  I found a clean, blue 3-ring notebook! I know, right? In perfect condition.  It even had a set of page dividers and half a ream on notebook paper in it!! Bonus for me!! I was so proud of my first pick. I laughed all the way home (which was another 1/2 mile away)  I'm sure people thought I was touched--holding my notebook and laughing. Makes me laugh even now as I write this. I am a goof.

I brought my trophy home and waited all day to proudly show the family. They were not impressed. Not at all. Although, hubby did laugh. He thinks I'm a goof.  And now my daughter uses the notebook for stuff that 9 yr. olds deem important--whatever that is.

Sometimes I think I want to be a Road Picker. It would be fun rooting around for lost treasures. I would love to hear the stories behind the collections and I would find the people fascinating. But I can't be a picker. It goes back to knowing that I have this DNA flaw. I would turn into my crazy aunt talking to dolls set up on the couch.  I would be crazy.  Not dangerous-lock-me-up-crazy, but crazy all the same.  I know I would. And that's why I won't. Isn't knowing how crazy you could be a good thing?