Wrigley Rose

Coloring outside the lines

I love my hood. The people. The sidewalk cafes. The lack of chain anything. The chocolate shop. The water bowls on every corner for Rose.

But most of all, I love the Rozelle Market. What's at the Rozelle Market? A bunch of useless crap, that's what. But I love useless crap. L.O.V.E. I specialize in useless crap.

Lucky for me almost every neighborhood in Sydney has a weekend market full of local art, local treasures and local flavor.

Paddington... Glebe... The Rocks... Balmain... Rozelle. And each market has a character similar to that neighborhood's character. They're usually held on the grounds of a church or a school, the playground transformed into a bustling flea market.

Paddington's market is set on beautiful school grounds right on Oxford Street. The best part of this market is the setting.

But the stuff they have there is too "curated" for me. Which means boring. It's for boring people. People who buy Coach.

For shame.

I'd expected so much more. Everyone always raves about the Paddington Market. But they play it pretty safe. There's definitely cute stuff. But nothing wild and wonderful.

Then there's Glebe. I really like Glebe. It was neighborhood choice #2. The market is pretty awesome. It's a little oddball, I'm not gonna lie. But it has a lot of local art. Mostly things I wouldn't buy. But stuff I love to know people are selling.

And candied almonds. It has candied almonds.

It's called "Sydney's most vibrant funky market. Culture on the fringe."

I did buy this though. It's Sydney on a piece of drift wood. See the Opera House?

Oh, and this. A bracelet made out of colorful felt balls. And why not?

But my neighborhood market is the Rozelle Market. And it's the BESTEST market. It's set at the Rozelle Public School.

And it specializes in "second-hand". Every Saturday and Sunday, people come from near and wide to sell their wild & wonderful wares.

They empty their attic, basically.

They set up little tables or tents.

They sell everything you can think of.

From books to massages to Japanese pizza.

The attic.

Most people would think it's nothing special, but I love it. And I love these people. They make my day. They are so weird and precious and interesting.

I love the man and his daughter who blend "a special juice just for you" made of celery, ginger, oranges, grapes and apple. It's so fresh you can almost feel your cell's rejuvenating.

I love that I can get Turkish food from someone's grandma for $2. And that I can watch her make it from scratch, toiling away under the tent, serving it up on a paper plate.

Sticking it up to your face saying "Is good for you."

Yes, is. good. for. me. But your sweet little face doesn't fool me. I saw your ill-concealed little secret. All that butter & grease. "Is good" for sure.

And there's always a band or two. There's the Japanese Sinatra. Then there's the little quartet of old starving artists. The ones who rigged pint holders on their sheet music stand (to hold their beer). Oh, and the couple that kinda reminds me of the lounge act in Swingers...

And their daughter, singing "Moon River".

God almighty, I love Rozelle.

And then there's to most amazing clothing you've ever laid eyes on. I mean, someone really tried hard. Looked far and wide to find...

Hillary Clinton's travelling pant suit from the 80s.

Oh, this is talent. A true eye for the ugly.

It entertains me. It really does.

But aside from all the glorious people watching and random ass things... I can usually find a gem. Or two. Or three. I absolutely love weeding through the odd and weird to find the one thing that someone should. not. be. selling.

Case in point - the old laundry cart. In perfect condition. Original basket. Working wheels. I almost fell off my imaginary chair when she quoted $35. A friend told me she saw one of these at another market for $200. I can believe it.

I could tell the little old lady didn't want to sell it. She seemed tentative. Pained. But it was right there in her booth. For Sale. She said, "I've had this for 40 years." I told her, "I'll have this for another 40 years, I promise." And she smiled. Heart warmed. She felt better. If only a little.

I filled it up with all my vintage linens, found over the years with no functional purpose. Tablecloths with no table to cloth. Sittin' pretty. In my basket.

She would be proud.

Then I went to my favorite booth. Gay guy - always has good shit. You can always rely on the gays for some nicely curated but slightly off-the-wall with a bit of kitsch good shit.

And he didn't fail me. He had these little metal flowers. He said they were drink holders. You put them into the ground when you're outside and they hold your drink. UH-mazing.

And the colors - totally awesome. I could not stop myself. I bought 5. And they were $35 per. But they were so fun. And so functional. I decided that I'd made them candles for my garden. And I could bring them inside too.

I mean, seriously. Aren't they just freakin' AWESOME.

Something like this - it makes my weekend. I know, I know. I'm sick.

Then I found a wine rack. Yes, yes - I already have the perfect wine rack. My little tricycle wine rack with the flower pot on top. The one I found at the Alameda Flea Market with the paint chipping off. Some unimaginative fool selling it for under $20.

(I'd waited 5 years, laying my wine bottles gathered from Sonoma, Napa, Paso, Santa Ynez, etc. on the floor. Waiting for the perfect. wine. rack.)

Sick, yes, sick.

Well, I loved my little wine rack. But I love this one too. Mostly because it's made of real horse shoes. And a little old lady was selling it.

For $12.