Spring and value shopping go hand in hand

The warm Chinook winds are blowing in and the robin’s song is music to my ears. I love this time of year. The snows have left the Valley’s Áoor and I feel younger today.

My belt is still a little tighter than I’d like, but what the hell, it’s paid for and it means that I wintered well.

Winter has a way of putting one’s self into a slower mode.

But the warmer weather has gotten me off my butt and onto my feet, and that in turn has burned more calories.

On the brighter size of things, I’m down a couple of notches on my belt.

I found myself in need of new jeans. If you want a wallet-shock, walk into any mall and ask the snooty girl for the latest in ripped, studded and brand named duds. Wow, $220.

There had to be a less expensive way to wrap my package. Then a friend said she knew of a place where the villagers go for value, and, sure enough, there were lines of jeans in my size.

There were ripped jeans, some of them were studded and a few brandname jeans were less than a hipster would pay for a pretentious mocha cappuccino.

I picked out two perfect pairs of jeans and a smaller belt. I handed the perky clerk a $20 bill and she handed me something unexpected — change.

A few years ago, I would have snubbed my nose at the thought of wearing recycled Wranglers, but my new jeans were as sanitary as anything you have in your closet.

It’s no different than eating off of your grandma’s Àne china, sitting on an antique chair, and I’d wager, less contaminated than an everyday handshake.

After all spring is a time to renew. Just like nature recycles last year’s fall leaves into bright yellow buttercups.

We, too, should reuse instead of refusing to accept the slightly worn, tarnished or blemished.

Hand-me-down clothing was just part of growing up with two brothers.

I’m sure there are germaphobes who would freak at the thought of touching untouchables. Then again, there are freaks who think about nothing else but touching untouchables. The truth is, most of the things we touch are covered in teeny-tiny bugs and bacteria. Doorknobs, keyboards and zippers are living microzoos, full of ugly little things that are better left unseen.

I’ve also discovered other little treasures in strange little places where the villagers go. I now have a cool collection of brass cats in all sizes and shapes.

As they say: “One man’s trash is another man’s treasure.”

Rare works of art have been picked up for pocket change in yard sales, thrift shops and other little places where the villagers go.

From one villager to another, I’d like you to take note and remember that whatever you threw into the snow is now wet and soggy garbage — sometimes one man’s trash is just that, trash.

When the snow melts away I’d rather see green shoots than white cigarette butts. I’d rather view nature’s bloom than pick up another tossed paper cup. So I plead, on behalf of Mother Nature, please keep your butts to yourself and don’t toss your trash.

Thank you, think green and I hope you wintered well.