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Community Corner

Yard Sales Are Good Medicine

Yard sales are the best place to find treasures, occasional trash and a lot of someone else's memories.

It’s finally here! The neighborhood yard sale. And I’ve been preparing for weeks by hauling wheelbarrows full of bounty into the garage and readying for the big event. Yes, this year, I am selling instead of buying.

Mostly I’m selling a lot of treasures brought home from previous yard sales. Because who can resist a bottle opener shaped like a dolphin, or a lamp with a bright red shade appliqued with stars and moons? I know I was unable to, which is why my house is full of other people’s discards that I now need to pass along to other homeowners with an eye for really cool stuff.

Preparing for my sale is a lot of work. My 19 year old was supposed to help me, but I have not seen him since I forced the commitment from him two weeks ago. He hasn’t even come home for dinner, so I know he has gone underground and may not surface until the next lunar eclipse.

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My husband-who-happens-to-have-cancer has tried to help, but I don’t expect him to exert himself, what with being poisoned by chemo and all. Sometimes I stare at him while he sleeps, thinking I see him glowing like so much radioactive material. Yes, my florescent hero deserves a pass from yard sale labor.

He did offer to settle himself into a lawn chair on the day of the sale and look real pitiful while coaxing passersby to climb our driveway and browse the goodies. But we decided this may be over the top and he might scare small children. So he will be strategically placed in a cool corner of the garage, fanny belt in place and filled with coins to make change for our hoards of paying customers.

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Yard sales are good medicine. Watching your discards leave your house in the hands of others, who, by the way, pay you to haul it away? Downright therapeutic.

All manner of household items are making their way into my garage this week, awaiting new owners. I decided to let go of four of my six sets of mixing bowls. Cabbage rose tablecloths and magnolia blossom flower arrangements will be a real steal for some buyer. And a lucky career woman or two will score some great work outfits, several of which have never been worn. Not to mention a sky high pile of clothes worn by my son one or two times before he decided he wanted to change his fashion statement.

Oh, you fortunate yard shoppers will find lots of treasures in my garage, and not all of them are previous yard sale rejects. Consider these gems: A gold and black sequined disco pimp cap bought immediately after seeing Saturday Night Fever in 1977. My beaver skin cowboy hat bought after watching Urban Cowboy in 1980. Battenberg lace linens and a silver plate brush and comb set bought in homage to Out of Africa in 1985. To-die-for leather luggage I could not resist on a 1988 trip to Florence after seeing A Room with a View.  

Indeed, my yard sale treasures are not trash. Each item represents some random point of a life lived building memories, discovering favorite things, sharing time and space with others. Each item reflects the story of my life.

Even the marred surfaces of my simple mixing bowls tell of the best and worst of meals as I honed my cooking skills over the years. Two of the bowl sets were wedding shower gifts, given to me 23 years ago by family matrons who wanted to ensure I had what I needed to prepare meals for my new husband. I never told them that I already had a fully-equipped kitchen. And I loyally used the new bowls, in tribute to a new life with my new husband, my life partner who now has trouble swallowing much of anything.  

This weekend, something very exciting will occur. Some privileged recipient will walk back down my driveway sporting the coolest disco pimp cap to ever be seen in Woodstock, GA. She will have no idea of the legacy just purchased. But that’s just fine, because she will begin to build her own memories around this 35-year old relic from 1970’s pop culture. Yes, the hat will soon reflect some aspect of the story of her very own life.

Passing the torch? Downright therapeutic.

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