Only extreme accumulation, a home sale on the horizon, two cash-hungry daughters, and , most likely, large doses of a new medication could have convinced me that it was a good idea to have a garage sale.
The newspaper ad had already been running for two days when we learned today was to be the coldest morning since last winter. It was raining last night when I fell asleep hoping for a rainout.
But it was dry, cold and dark when we started moving the mountain of stuff from the garage to the driveway at 6:30 a.m.
By 7:30 the wagons were circling with a dozen folks who apparently could read the address, time and date in the ad, but not the all caps, boldfaced single line that said "NO SALES BEFORE 9 a.m." Somehow they thought that casting aspersions on our person and heritage would make the rule go away. One watched us from his car for an hour before shouting "It was a real pleasure to watch you move junk around" before he left.
At 8:45 everything was out and priced. There were about 30 restless natives gathering beyond on property line. (Yes, I did threaten criminal prosecution for tresspass). My barely five-foot, very shy 19-year old, Jennine, looked very scared. My 20-year-old, Jessica, has been going to college in New York. She was ready. We huddled up, went over the rules one more time and promised Jennine that no one would hurt her.
At the signal, they swarmed. They wheedled, whined, pushed, bargained, poached each others piles and pilfered.
At the first break we were annoyed to see an expensive radio controlled car has been stolen, but delighted the thief did not take the power pack or controller which we promptly ditched.
Books started at $2 for hardbacks and $1 for paperbacks. We had hundreds of each. A sweet couple picked up both of Laura Lippman's hardbacks early along. I knew they'd enjoy them and mentioned that I had worked with Laura in San Antonio and that she had been helpful to me as a pre-published novelist.
They smiled broadly and introduced themselves as Laura's parents -- part of Saint Simons snowbird flock. Their obvious pride and the warmth of that moment took me away from the cold and the chaos.
My Aunt Judy Stawicki is the Queen of Western New York Garage Sales. I flashed on the day she'll call me excited about the bargain she got on one of my books. Because there are yet no royalties to lose on resale, it was a wonderful daydream.
But the Lippman's left and the wheelers and dealers quickly quashed the fantasy. Two hours later everything was priced to sell and small children where leaving with their arms loaded in free toys.
There is almost room for a car in the garage now, we took a in few hundred dollars, we took a truckload of leftovers large items and electronics to Goodwill, and my butt will eventually thaw.
Overall, it was probably worth it.
One of thse days Aunt Judy is going to buy one of my books at a garage sale.