A yellow t-shirt and a child waving

Before I got sidetracked by contemplating Brody, it had been my intention to tell you about my yellow t-shirt.

There's a ladies' apparel firm whose clothing I like. I have bought a dress from them but nothing else, because (though their things are not unreasonably priced) my budget is modest and anyway I prefer to buy second-hand to ease the strain on Earth's resources and reduce what goes to landfill. So I have a skirt from this firm courtesy of eBay, and two sleeveless cardigans, and in the past have had tops (I regret sending those away now, they were good); and I often look on eBay to see if there's anything else in my size and colour palette.

Recently, there was. Someone just along the coast from me in Brighton had listed several tops — brand new with tags, still in their packets; not this season's but none the worse for that, in colours I loved (soft sea greens and blues, buttery golden yellows, etc.) A t-shirt from this company is £45, and a lightweight summer sweater is £69 or £79, depending which range. This eBayer had that kind of thing on auction at an £8 start (and free postage) — the accompanying legend said they were from a house clearance, so maybe the eBayer had a rich old aunt (now deceased) who just kept buying them because they were pretty.

So I placed an £8 bid on the first item coming up for auction, which was about £61 less than it would have been in the catalogue. The opportunity was offered to get if for £18 on buy-it-now, but £18 would be a lot for me, so I waited, and mine was the only bid! £8! Result!

Some days later, the next item — a beautiful scoop-necked top in a quiet grey blue came up for auction, at the same price and with the same outcome! Again — result!

The eBayer began his despatch note with: "Hello again, Pen . . ." 

So I sent a note back saying, "Why is no one else bidding on these lovely tops? I think they're fab."

He wrote back to me, wondering if perhaps the tops being size XL was putting people off. This betrayed a certain lack of sophistication — possibly not the most tactful remark to make to the person who had bought them (?), since one must deduce her to be traditionally built, to use Alexander McCall Smith's timeless phrase, but never mind that.

I replied saying I thought the problem likely to be that this brand is a favourite with posh old ladies so they might a) be less au fait with the internet and b) buying their clothing new, not on eBay. I explained that I, too, am a posh old lady, but also poor and wily.

After I sent this message, I noticed that for his forthcoming auctions he (also wily) had adjusted his pricing, reducing the buy-it-now from £18 to £15, but increasing the auction starting price from £8 to £10. I felt unreasonably annoyed by that, because I was enjoying bagging these items at £8, and there were two more things I wanted from what he had listed. 

I considered not bidding, and contenting myself with the two bargains I had.

And then he replied, saying that after he'd paid for postage he was making only about £2.48 on these items, and I imagined him going to all the effort of printing off labels and packing things up and checking the details were right and trudging along to the post office, and it seemed so sad. So the two remaining items I wanted, I bought on buy-it-now, so he'd make a better profit (albeit still small), and I apologised for not getting them at the same time as the blue top, which would have put him to less trouble and cost him less postage: and he said, "Thank you so much."

Then, when the parcel came (this man despatches things with admirable promptitude), I was so touched and surprised to discover he'd tucked in with the ones I'd bought a further free top in the same kind of colour — just perfect for me. 

And I sent him a happy thank-you note, and he sent his love.

What interests me particularly here is that, though it seems clear neither of us has much money, what elevated it into something joyous and lovely was what we gave. Getting those things on buy-it-now meant I spent £10 I need not have, but what's £10 in this day and age? It would hardly buy you tea and buns in a café. Sending me the extra top meant he forfeited the extra tenner I'd sent him. But, look what that £10 shuttling back and forth bought us! The sense that someone cared, that the world is kind, that there is hope after all, that humanity is not bankrupt and everything might be all right. All of that. And a feeling of warmth and cheerfulness and gratitude. How could you buy all that for ten pounds?

This is what it means to interweave the grace/gift economy with the regular currency of money. 

And then a couple of days after that, something else happened.

I was feeling lonely and discouraged, and spoke to myself sternly, "Come along, Penelope, do something. Go somewhere."

I can't walk all that far because my feet and legs are too painful, but I thought I might catch a bus down to the pier, and buy an ice cream, and sit and eat it looking out over the sea.

So I got the bus down to the sea — but much to my surprise, no one on the pier sold the sort of ice cream I had in mind (the soft, whipped sort in a cone).

So I walked along into the town centre where I knew there was an ice cream van, and got one there. All the benches standing around in the square at the centre of the shopping mall had people already sitting on them, so I sat on the low window sill of a closed down clothing shop (probably everyone bought their wares on eBay, not new, and pushed them over the edge into oblivion) to eat it there.

My foot was hurting and I'd walked too far and felt tired and despondent. The ice cream was just what I'd had in mind, but the place felt as cheerful as communist Russia in the rain — even though the sun was shining and nothing was really wrong.

But then something happened that made all the difference. Two young women walked slowly by me, between them a little girl, perhaps four or five years old, with dark hair up in a jaunty, swinging pony tail, and she was holding the hand of one of the women, presumably her mother.

As they passed, the women were chatting to each other, but the little girl kept glancing back at me. And when they'd gone a few yards, she turned back and waved and smiled to me — and I waved and smiled back to her. 

Her mother looked in surprise at her and at me, and she smiled too. And they went on their way. But I stowed in my heart her smile and her wave, and it made me happy. Why did she do it? I have no idea.

But that, too, is part of the grace/gift economy — something that costs nothing and means everything; something we all can give.