From the Publisher/Karen Portugal York
It seemed like a good idea at the time. A good friend and I would gather our unneeded household items and hold a garage sale. It would be an opportunity to clear the decks for the New Year-just in time for the holiday shoppers. We would recycle unwanted treasures and might even make a few bucks. What could be easier? All that was required was publicity-if we advertised it, they would come.
Surprisingly, finding stuff to sell was easier than I thought. While it wasn’t that very long ago that Arnold and I found ourselves with only the clothes on our back, our dog, two oriental rugs, three Gorman prints, the hard disk of my computer and anything that could be loaded in the back of our SUV in 10 minutes flat (the Malibu fires of ’93 having taken our home and everything in it), we have since rebuilt our home and filled it will all the necessary and unnecessary stuff of our lives. Our bookcases are again filled with books, cabinets stocked with food, the wine rack with wine, the shelves with dishes, pots and pans, gadgets, hardware, tools and linens. The closets and drawers filled with clothes, the filing cabinets with files …
Suffice it to say, that while we no longer have the accumulated mass of 38 years of marriage and parenting, we have obviously done a lot of shopping.
As I selected the items designated as serviceable but superfluous to our needs (and therefore saleable) I pondered their origins. Some had come from the households of dear friends who lovingly helped us to re-establish a home after the fire. Others had been cheaply acquired to meet immediate need for clothing, bedding, cleaning and cooking. Some items were simply outdated. And, like most families, we had collected our share of “near-new” attire, rarely worn, or a size too large or too small. Then there are the gifts that aren’t to our taste, books we’ve read or will never read, mismatched crockery, surplus office supplies and earlier generations of electronic equipment.
To make a long story short, we had our garage sale. Our foray into the world of retail consisted of several days of gathering and schlepping, two days of set up and pricing, and culminating in six busy hours of trade and a few hundred dollars in sales.
In the event, I found it to be exhausting, emotional and tiresome. Yet, I am surprised to realize that I am really happy we did it. As is so often true in life, my reward was in the process not the product. Sorting through the collected paraphernalia of the last nine years and asked to put a price on each item, I was forced to acknowledge their value to me, if not to the buyer. How much should I charge for a handmade (though slightly off kilter) ceramic vase that elicits vivid memories of the creativity and quirky character of a distant friend? (I kept it). How much for a pane-less photo frame that use to hold pictures of dear family members (some no longer with us)? What is the price for the one-handled picnic basket that brings to mind happy beach side meals with friends, or a load of gift boxes and ribbons filled with memories of so many generous gestures?
This November it will be 10 years since Arnold and I walked the beach with a small black canvas bag (a gift) that held a few newly purchased necessities (toothbrushes, etc.) to get through the weekend. The garage sale was another gift, presenting me with an opportunity to take stock of the last nine years of my life; to reaffirm what I value and recognize what has proved worthless, to acknowledge what is important and what is not, what will be retained and what I am ready to let go of. Not a bad return.