There’s twisted feelings while selling your old stuff at a moving sale. The concept seemed pretty obvious to do. We’ve been in this house sixteen years and things have collected. We don’t need or want all of it anymore. Money stands to be made.
So for weeks we sifted through stuff, some of which we’d forgotten we had like a 2002 Olympic poster signed by Mitt Romney. Some of it had been used very little like a mustard yellow fondue maker from decades past. Then there was the collection of materials I thought I’d sew but haven’t, dish sets with a few pieces broken, trinkets brought back from trips. Books, linens, file cabinets, half-worn suitcases and carryon bags grew in mounds in the garage. Garden tools we hope not to need in Arizona collected in a messy stack in the corner and a snowblower was put at the end of the driveway to “bring ‘em on in.” I spent a few hours every afternoon the week before putting on prices, some of it based on emotional importance to me.
Heaven sent me three angels in the form of friends who agreed to help. Two of them brought their own stuff to sell, so when it was all up there was plenty. I was so busy and distracted that I didn’t take photos. Too bad, because the driveway and garage looked like the best of a bargain basement sales floor. The angels, Cyn, Patti, and Elizabeth made it possible.
Neighbors came. Strangers came. Most bought something. Prices fell by the hour, bargaining was intense. Was the wooden spoon from Slovakia worth $3 or $1?
End result? No one wants file cabinets anymore. Garden tools are popular. There’s still a market for cd jewel cases. We made over $500, which probably means about $5.00 per man/woman hour expended. Glad it’s over.
We still have the snowblower, but then we still may need it one last time. The Mitt Romney poster was retrieved and not sold. As Olympic memorabilia it likely won’t lose value and could gain, depending on the presidential outcome. Two mounted batik prints I
always liked found a new home with a couple who like them more.
The twisted feelings? Yes, seeing your “stuff” go is a bit wrenching in small moments, especially for the quarter an angel reduces the price to, but the deeper feeling is this: That stuff may be physically gone, but it
is still as powerful in memory with the weight of how it formed me or witnessed me being formed in that time of my life when I used it. And I don’t understand why my musical Easter bunnies didn’t sell at a bargain price of $3.
They must be meant to go to Arizona with me.