The Beast Coast

New York is different from California. This may come as a surprise to those of you who have only lived on one coast or the other, or (God forbid) any readers who got stuck living in-between (I’ve driven through your states twice now; I’m so sorry). They’re both big states, with lots of…trees…and they’ve both made me realize that I should look out the window more and see what they’ve got besides trees. But certain things feel like they’re a step away in a random direction; even the yard sales.

This past Saturday in New York, I overheard a guy talking about how he (his company?) recently had to pay a $200 million fine, in the same regretful tone that one might remark that they left their phone charger on the bus. “Aw gee,” I could imagine him shrugging, then giving the propeller on his beanie cap a twirl. “What a boo-boo I just did.” (And we don’t even live in the rich part of New York. We live in the cow part.) In Humboldt County—our home in California before moving back east—the only time you’d hear the word “million” was if someone was breaking the record for number of buds grown in a single field.

Another example. In California, I found some pretty adorable quilting-themed goods at an estate sale…

warm-puppy-quilting-pin

quilt-til-you-wilt-mug

mystery-quilting-retreat-mug

Like, seriously, who doesn’t want to go on a MYSTERY QUILTING RETREAT?? (Hands up if you’re picturing it like an escape room, but with quilting.) On the other coast, I found this:

stitch-and-bitch-club

This was at a church sale. I can only imagine what I’ll find at the flea markets around here.

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