Second best is sometimes the best

I am one of those people who has always settled for the second best. My dad is a great fixer upper, and we were raised to believe that it didn't matter what the label said - if it was a good price and good quality, then it was good enough. I can still remember being new to my school in grade nine, and wanting more than anything a pair of North Star sneakers to wear to school. Dad to the rescue! He came home one Sunday from the flea market, with a pair of ever so slightly used sneakers in his hands. They were not new. And they were definitely not North Stars. But they were mine. Dad said he'd fix them up and they'd be as good as new.

As I grew up, the trend continued. I got to take my brother's second hand stereo to college with me; his used guitar became mine; my mother's hair dryer was passed over to me when she got a new one; and her friend who was the same size as me would save her work clothes for me once I began to work.

I was the recipient of my parents' old towels, old duvets and duvet covers they were no longer using, and many a piece of used furniture to help furnish those sparse apartments. I will never forget the years of the green and orange couches adorning my beautiful basement flat with the hardwood floors and window seats. Those couches. Ouch.

When I bought my first house, my dad told me he had built me a table for my deck. He had built some beautiful picnic tables in the past so I was quite excited to see what would arrive. Turns out my sister and her husband got the picnic table. I received another handmade Dad-table. A piece of plywood covered with mac-tac and put on some old table legs.

I used that table for six years.

Then he came in to help me repair that deck. He brought warped wood that he had picked up as a bargain, and instead of deck baluster, he went with lattice. My deck is 18 feet off the ground, and I have 18 feet of lattice reaching from the ground to the top of the deck rail. Ugliest thing you've ever seen.

I smile as I type this because although it sounds like I'm complaining, each one of these stories comes with a memory of gifts given totally from the heart of two loving parents who didn't have much as we were growing up, and never really got used to having much once they hit the point that they could splurge a bit.

They instilled a pretty solid set of values in me ... and one of the great gifts they gave me was the solid knowledge of the place of material things in my life. They just are not that important to me most days.

So this weekend, when I went out and for the first time in my entire adult life, bought a new patio set, I almost felt guilty. I have been threatening to buy one for the last four years. I wanted to replace the hideously blue painted plastic table and the three green bucket chairs that HB accepted from neighbours who were moving and didn't want to throw it out. I almost felt guilty as I threw the first chair over the lattice railings and heard it shatter on the lawn below. I almost felt guilty as I hiked the table out to the curb for the garbage pick up.

I almost felt guilty as I sat under the umbrella, nestled into a cushiony chair with my feet propped up on the second of the FIVE chairs with matching cushions that came with this set.

Almost.

Now I wonder if I can break down and convince myself to buy a pair of crocs? Maybe I should check out the flea market...they might have knock offs for sale.....