I’m always amazed at the unpredictability of what people choose to buy. The sale was a town-wide endeavor to benefit a children’s play group, and so participants paid to have their house put on a map that was available for shoppers to pick up at 8:00 a.m.
Good thing, since we live on a three-house dead end street which itself is off of a dead-end. Most people wouldn’t find us unless we set flairs off into the air at regular intervals.
By 7:58 we’d already sold a rusted fire engine peddle car that had been languishing in our garage for twenty years. (And twenty years before that in a previous garage since we’d bought it for our now-43 year old son.) I don’t understand its allure since any child with legs strong enough to peddle it is by that point too big to fit into it.
But it has a bell, and it’s red, and it’s big, so it must just be the precursor to future vehicles.
Gone: two semi-sets of china, several feet of white garden fencing, two humongous silver plate trays, a heavy rock-solid but stained plastic patio table and chairs, some ugly paintings, one press-back wood chair but not the other, four big plastic Fisher-Price sandbox trucks and one Sergeant Pepper record album.
Still with us, sadly, a big metal office credenza My Guy dragged home from a previous workplace, an entire box of silver-plated bowls, platters, and candy dishes from my silver-loving forbears, our son’s rickety drafting table, an eight foot folding table, a big pine rocker, and assorted lamps. Craig’s list is in our future.
The small remainders – knick knacks and oddments – I threw into boxes and drove immediately to the Salvation Army.
The moment after I lugged the last box to the gentleman receiving it and staggered to my car it began to rain.