*The title comes courtesy of Drake. I fell over laughing when he delivered this line as we sat down, actually more like 'collapsed', at the end of the second and last day of our Garage Sale. Now, you're either a Garage Sale Person or you're not. The "not" people are just creeped out at the idea of pawing through someone elses' things. The Garage Sale Person sees this activity as active recycling in congenial circumstances. Garage Saling is the true harbinger of Spring. Forget flocks of robins, forget mayflies, forget flowering Bradford pear trees, emerging daffodils, and tulips: You know Spring has arrived when the Garage Salers come out of winter hibernation.
As a veteran Garage Sale afficianado, let me tell you that it's been a long, cold, wet winter around Hurst, Texas, and we afficianados have been ready to bust out and garage sale. (Yes, you can actually use those two words as an action verb!) My true preference is to cruise other peoples' treasures, but this season was kicked off by holding our own Garage Sale.
We had the Cadillac of Garage Sales. First, there were superior signs with clear readable information you could grasp as you whizzed down the street trolling for sales. Second, since Spring weather in Texas is always dicey, OUR sale was inside the great room of our house. That was a genius call since the weather on the first day of the sale had constant 20 mph winds with gusts up to 40 mph. Our customers regaled us with stories of other sales holders chasing their merchandise as it blew down the street or into their neighbors' yards. No such problem at our sale. Third, we had excellent presentation with all the merchandise easily accessible including the clothing which was displayed on commercial quality Z racks. And, finally, we priced everything clearly and we priced the merchandise to MOVE. A big mistake novices make is they think their stuff is all platinum and price it accordingly.
I have to give kudos to Beverly "Junque" Naylor who taught me how to stage a sale efficiently with maximum time management during the preparation phase. A big thanks is also due to the two friends (Patsy and Sarah) who showed up to HELP during the sale. An important technique of a successful sale is to have a designated cashier so there's no confusion about who to pay. That's really important on the hectic first morning when we would have been overrun if not for the extra help.
I think Drake and I were both shocked at how much stuff we wound up selling. I'm not just talking about my clothes which I grieved for in an earlier blog. When we set up to sort and price on Monday, we realized that in the past 8 months, we had managed to collect a ten foot long by five foot high by 3 foot wide pile of boxes in our garage filled with items to be priced for our garage sale. How did I manage to have this much MORE STUFF! I had a garage sale last June. I cleaned my house out again in July and donated to the annual St. Paul UMC garage sale, and I still had this giant pile I had rooted out between last July and this March.
I guess this whole vagabonding scheme Drake and I have dreamed up really is a process. We both felt at the end of the Garage Sale that another milestone in making this dream happen had been passed. We did have a lot of stuff to sell, and the Garage Sale really symbolized our commitment to shed some of these possessions weighing us down. (Truthfully, though, I do plan to at least LOOK THROUGH the clothes that didn't sell. Whether I'll take back anything, I don't know. Don't tell Drake.) I'm joking, of course - well, sort of.
The truth is it's fun to watch other people find treasures among your sale items. "I've been looking everywhere for one of these!" "Oh, these are exactly the colors of my bathroom." "I love SAS shoes, and these are just my size." "I'm helping my daughter/son set up his/her first apartment." "I love to buy books!" And there are the collectors: "Do you have any old watches?" Do you have any tools, any fishing tackle, any BB guns?" "I buy unwanted gold." [Is that an oxymoron, or what?] "I collect pigs, frogs, cows, bells, teacups," - you name it, and somebody collects it. There are the puzzle people, the board game buyers, the toys for the grandkids buyers, the people furnishing the baby room or clothing the new baby. There are the it's for mission gatherers. And the near and dear to my heart: The canvassing teachers trying to find supplies, books, and decorations for their classrooms. Having a Garage Sale is like being at a long running bidding war. "Will you take a dollar for this?" "I really like this, but we're going to have to make a deal." What's your lowest price?" "I can buy this anywhere for $2; will you meet that price?" To really cause a frenzy, you start your half price sale at noon on Saturday. Oh, then the merchandise really waltzes out the door in the hands of very, very happy people. Even when the treasures were full price (relatively speaking) people were so happy to be out and about indulging in their garage saling hobby.
That was another hallmark of our Garage Sale. Because of our atrocious weather this year, this past weekend was really the kick-off of Garage Sale Season - yes, for you uninitiated, there is a 'season'. Having lived here and Garage Saled for almost 20 years, I know by sight and have a casual acquaintance with a legion of Salers just like myself. We run into each other at sales all the time. I know who buys books. I know who loves to talk. I know who has a competitive streak.
My favorite person who garage sales is Mrs. George. She was Sarah Lynn's second grade teacher. She's been a second grade teacher for 39 years, and she just signed a contract to teach for her 40th year next year. She's taught everyone. She knows everyone. I wouldn't be surprised if she's now teaching the grandkids of some of her earliest students. I run into her at least 3 times during the season, and it was great to be able to say good-bye to her when she came to our sale. Oh, Sarah Lynn, Mrs. George says to tell you how proud of you she is.
I feel sorry for people who don't garage sale. You're missing a whole subculture, an entire community of people who like face to face interaction, enjoy the thrill of the hunt, and like to wonder in amazement at what other people own and are willing to sell.
Without further ado: Here are our top Garage Sale moments:
"I can't believe we sold that." - A bag of wooden stakes. (I resisted asking if he was remedying a vampire problem.)
"Boy, this is a great floor." (I heard this about 25 times, and one woman even took pictures of my randomly laid in three sizes ceramic tile floor.)
"Is this house for sale?" (I guess having a completely empty great room except for tables set up with merchandise was a CLUE.)
Biggest clothing purchase: $38 - (Each piece of clothing at the sale was priced at $1.00 - see, I told you I had great prices.)
Item I couldn't let go of, so I priced it at what SOME people would say was a ridiculous price: My bicentennial bell (big, big bell). I marked it for $100.00. Suprise, surprise - nobody bought it - just like I planned.
Best Sale: The $.10 pink eraser that a five year old girl purchased on her own with just a little whisper from Mom that the dime was the littlest sized coin in her purse. I bagged that momentous purchase thanking her for her business to give the little girl the full customer experience. We both had a great time.
All in all - it was a great Garage Sale. Aren't you sorry you missed it? Oh, and we made enough money to pay for my new laptop twice over. I can hardly wait to break in new territory Garage Saling all over America.
Saturday, March 13, 2010
Friday, March 5, 2010
A Milestone Day
Today, the movers came, saw and carried 90% of what was left in my house out the door, onto the truck and into the storage unit. Well, perhaps it was a little more complicated than that. First, the look on these movers' faces when they saw Drake's six page storage moving day plan was priceless. I can just hear these guys over their dinner tables tonight: "Honey, you aren't going to believe this guy we moved today."
There were two movers. One guy, Matthew, was 45ish with a son who is going to the UIL State Championships tomorrow to power lift, and a wife who made sure that all the son's grades were "A". As Matthew put it, he gets "B's", he don't play. He was so proud of his son and of his wife for demanding the best. Lord knows I would have kissed the feet of parents like them when I was teaching. The other guy, David, was 25ish and thought Drake was crazy. He didn't say anything; he just telegraphed his message with body language. I didn't catch him rolling his eyes, but it was only because I didn't look at him at that exact moment.
Now, I've gently poked fun at Drake's project manager approach to the storage unit, his graphed out storage unit from all dimensions, and oh, the newest wrinkle - the order of moving truck loading/unloading and the storage tub plan. I'm formally here to eat crow. It worked beautifully. We have a storage unit that has every drawer exposed, so it can be used. There's an aisle. There's a map that shows where every single item we own is stored. There's an inventory of the contents of every tub. It all worked like clockwork. We got the entire house moved and stored by 1:30 this afternoon. I was eating a Reuben sandwich by 2:00 pm. Drake's comment: "I'm very pleased with the outcome." Can you imagine? I would have been fist pumping, high fiving, button popping, woohooing. Drake was pleased with the outcome - doesn that just give you the picture of opposites attract?
The milestone of the storing of our things. I have to figure out how I feel about this. The house is sad - it's empty and echoing (literally). Fortunately, I'm emailing the wife of the new owners, and she's so excited. I believe that houses need to be loved. I think they hate sitting empty. Their job is to shelter people. It's their highest and best use. We have loved this house, and now it's time for new people to love this house.
It's time to move on. New adventures. Excitement is in the air. Next challenge: The Moving Sale.
There were two movers. One guy, Matthew, was 45ish with a son who is going to the UIL State Championships tomorrow to power lift, and a wife who made sure that all the son's grades were "A". As Matthew put it, he gets "B's", he don't play. He was so proud of his son and of his wife for demanding the best. Lord knows I would have kissed the feet of parents like them when I was teaching. The other guy, David, was 25ish and thought Drake was crazy. He didn't say anything; he just telegraphed his message with body language. I didn't catch him rolling his eyes, but it was only because I didn't look at him at that exact moment.
Now, I've gently poked fun at Drake's project manager approach to the storage unit, his graphed out storage unit from all dimensions, and oh, the newest wrinkle - the order of moving truck loading/unloading and the storage tub plan. I'm formally here to eat crow. It worked beautifully. We have a storage unit that has every drawer exposed, so it can be used. There's an aisle. There's a map that shows where every single item we own is stored. There's an inventory of the contents of every tub. It all worked like clockwork. We got the entire house moved and stored by 1:30 this afternoon. I was eating a Reuben sandwich by 2:00 pm. Drake's comment: "I'm very pleased with the outcome." Can you imagine? I would have been fist pumping, high fiving, button popping, woohooing. Drake was pleased with the outcome - doesn that just give you the picture of opposites attract?
The milestone of the storing of our things. I have to figure out how I feel about this. The house is sad - it's empty and echoing (literally). Fortunately, I'm emailing the wife of the new owners, and she's so excited. I believe that houses need to be loved. I think they hate sitting empty. Their job is to shelter people. It's their highest and best use. We have loved this house, and now it's time for new people to love this house.
It's time to move on. New adventures. Excitement is in the air. Next challenge: The Moving Sale.
Sunday, February 28, 2010
Over the Top? You've Got to be Kidding.
This piece comes with a disclaimer prior to your reading of this selection: A direct quote from my husband:
With that said, now here's what the reality of that statement means........
An unwelcome friend has been visiting our house for the past several days. Actually since the Saturday when the 10" snow event was over, this friend showed up and has been camped out with us ever since. I haven't seen him for a while, but his return was not welcome. The old devil STRESS has joined us, and he has been whispering in Drake's ear, accelerating his heart rate, clenching his muscles, and ramping his obsessive/compulsive personality tendencies up to an intensity that's very, very hard to live with. We've been working continually since the movers of our storage stuff are coming on Friday the 5th. Drake's been totally immersed in the lists, the storage plan, the inventory, the checklist. He's obsessed with what we've forgotten. He's sure that we are going to have a zillion things undone when the movers come on Friday. Of course, when the control freak meets the uber project manager, this poor laborer has had to count to 100 several times this week.
Of course, I'm not affected by the stress of winnowing down, dividing up, and picking what to sell. Yes, I can hear you all laughing at that statement.
However, Drake is still in justification mode (ie - see the disclaimer above). I'm trying to get back into the enjoyment mode and be the very best laborer that Drake could ever wish for. Believe me, it's my only defense when he is as hyped up as this. This past week I had my successes, and I had my failures.
Here's my big failure. Once again, the dreaded "THIS IS MY STUFF" overwhelmed me. I've had to literally divide my clothes in half. I'm selling half of them. Now, I'm the first to admit that perhaps I have too many clothes. OK - I do have too many clothes. Even I realize that four closets of clothes is over the top. Even if you take away the memory clothes - which are pretty few - that I still have 3 and 3/4ths closets full of clothes.
Let me clarify for those of you who are scratching your heads, saying "Memory clothes, what the heck are memory clothes?" This is what I mean by memory clothes: They are the dresses I made for Easter for Sarah while she was growing up. It's the identical denim skirts that my best friend and I bought at Sakowitz just before we went to Puerto Vallarta. It's the dress I wore to my 10th wedding anniversary party. It's the first piece of lingerie I ever bought. You know, those kind of clothes. It doesn't matter if you never put them on again. They are so woven into your important memories that you can't bear to part with them. That's why women hold onto their wedding dresses - even after 40 years! Every woman I know has at least one item of memory clothing.
Usually my attitude toward clothing is just the opposite of holding on. I am married to someone who has very few clothes, but what he has, he wears and wears because he feels more comfortable in clothes that are familiar. I tend to be of the more must be better clothing school because I like having one of every color and mixing them up sometimes with some real bizarre results. Plus, I like finding clothes - at garage sales, at thrift shops, at resale shops and at the Goodwill. It's my second hobby after embroidery. That's how I wound up with four closets. The real problem was that I made the first few cuts over the past two years somewhat painlessly because, hey, I could always just buy more - and the quest was really more fun than the ownership. As St. Paul UMC garage sale devotees can attest, I have turned over entire station wagon loads of clothes - usually on a yearly basis. I was pretty sure that culling my clothes was not going to be that hard. (Boy, talk about lying to yourself.)
Now we are at the crossroads. I had to actually acknowledge the number of feet available to me for clothes. My portion of the Z rack in the storage unit will only hold 7.5 feet. The bar in the car will only hold 2 feet. I have 1 and 1/2 suitcases for taking anything I fold. Then I'm done. No more clothes than that. Can you imagine taking 2 feet of hanging clothes and 1-1/2 suitcases to last you for 6 months or possibly a year! (Now, Drake wants to jump in right here and say -"Well, you know you'll get 3/4th of the room for clothes, so you actually get 10 feet of Z rack for storage and 3 feet of clothes bar for clothes you're taking on the road.") OK - even so - that's not much. I took a deep breath on Wednesday, and I went into my closets. I thought I was ruthless. I gave up things I wanted to keep. I even gave up some MEMORY CLOTHES. I was sure that I had cut my wardrobe to the bone.
Wrong. After much waving around of arms, and accusations along the line of 'You know what we've talked about for a year'. Why are you surprised? I can't believe you're acting like you didn't know about this!' I then had to go back again and give away another third of my wardrobe. Painful. Very painful. For final insult, Drake then went through my clothes and picked out a few more items that he has always hated seeing me wear. To be fair.........I zealously pruned his wardrobe of everything that I hated seeing him in. It was a much higher pile of pruned items because Drake wears the same things endlessly. Clothes day was the low point of getting ready to go. I was miserable; Drake was frustrated by my attitude. Added as fuel to his hyper intensity of IF WE DON'T PUSH, WE WON'T BE READY, and my increasing physcial pain, it's a wonder we're still speaking. Lots of resentment on both sides - his justified and mine because even though I knew it was irrational, it made me feel better. The old devil living with us was in high cotton.
After backing off, sleeping on it, and realizing that the big picture of what we are trying to do is more important than a few clothes, I'm trying to get back into the enjoyment mode. There is something satisfying about releasing your stuff. I've sold beds, tables, bookcases, a dresser and a chest of drawers, two recliners, a TV and a stereo system without really turning a hair. I've got a garage packed to the rafters with stuff to price for the sale. I decided I'm not going to let a few clothes slow me down. I'm going. I want to go. I want a new life of new people, new places, new food, new sights. I want to have something to write about. To get that new life, this snake has to shed some skin. I've come to the conclusion that it's OK if some of it pulls a bit as it sheds away. it won't kill me, and from now on, it's not even going to faze me. Time to keep my eye on the big picture.
Oh, and today, even Drake admitted that perhaps he has been a bit intense. Just a bit. Now, we're laughing again. Now we're sure we will be ready to go - OK, I'm sure. I have faith in the best project manager in the world.
"Someone has to be over the top in order for us
to be ready to go."
With that said, now here's what the reality of that statement means........
An unwelcome friend has been visiting our house for the past several days. Actually since the Saturday when the 10" snow event was over, this friend showed up and has been camped out with us ever since. I haven't seen him for a while, but his return was not welcome. The old devil STRESS has joined us, and he has been whispering in Drake's ear, accelerating his heart rate, clenching his muscles, and ramping his obsessive/compulsive personality tendencies up to an intensity that's very, very hard to live with. We've been working continually since the movers of our storage stuff are coming on Friday the 5th. Drake's been totally immersed in the lists, the storage plan, the inventory, the checklist. He's obsessed with what we've forgotten. He's sure that we are going to have a zillion things undone when the movers come on Friday. Of course, when the control freak meets the uber project manager, this poor laborer has had to count to 100 several times this week.
Of course, I'm not affected by the stress of winnowing down, dividing up, and picking what to sell. Yes, I can hear you all laughing at that statement.
However, Drake is still in justification mode (ie - see the disclaimer above). I'm trying to get back into the enjoyment mode and be the very best laborer that Drake could ever wish for. Believe me, it's my only defense when he is as hyped up as this. This past week I had my successes, and I had my failures.
Here's my big failure. Once again, the dreaded "THIS IS MY STUFF" overwhelmed me. I've had to literally divide my clothes in half. I'm selling half of them. Now, I'm the first to admit that perhaps I have too many clothes. OK - I do have too many clothes. Even I realize that four closets of clothes is over the top. Even if you take away the memory clothes - which are pretty few - that I still have 3 and 3/4ths closets full of clothes.
Let me clarify for those of you who are scratching your heads, saying "Memory clothes, what the heck are memory clothes?" This is what I mean by memory clothes: They are the dresses I made for Easter for Sarah while she was growing up. It's the identical denim skirts that my best friend and I bought at Sakowitz just before we went to Puerto Vallarta. It's the dress I wore to my 10th wedding anniversary party. It's the first piece of lingerie I ever bought. You know, those kind of clothes. It doesn't matter if you never put them on again. They are so woven into your important memories that you can't bear to part with them. That's why women hold onto their wedding dresses - even after 40 years! Every woman I know has at least one item of memory clothing.
Usually my attitude toward clothing is just the opposite of holding on. I am married to someone who has very few clothes, but what he has, he wears and wears because he feels more comfortable in clothes that are familiar. I tend to be of the more must be better clothing school because I like having one of every color and mixing them up sometimes with some real bizarre results. Plus, I like finding clothes - at garage sales, at thrift shops, at resale shops and at the Goodwill. It's my second hobby after embroidery. That's how I wound up with four closets. The real problem was that I made the first few cuts over the past two years somewhat painlessly because, hey, I could always just buy more - and the quest was really more fun than the ownership. As St. Paul UMC garage sale devotees can attest, I have turned over entire station wagon loads of clothes - usually on a yearly basis. I was pretty sure that culling my clothes was not going to be that hard. (Boy, talk about lying to yourself.)
Now we are at the crossroads. I had to actually acknowledge the number of feet available to me for clothes. My portion of the Z rack in the storage unit will only hold 7.5 feet. The bar in the car will only hold 2 feet. I have 1 and 1/2 suitcases for taking anything I fold. Then I'm done. No more clothes than that. Can you imagine taking 2 feet of hanging clothes and 1-1/2 suitcases to last you for 6 months or possibly a year! (Now, Drake wants to jump in right here and say -"Well, you know you'll get 3/4th of the room for clothes, so you actually get 10 feet of Z rack for storage and 3 feet of clothes bar for clothes you're taking on the road.") OK - even so - that's not much. I took a deep breath on Wednesday, and I went into my closets. I thought I was ruthless. I gave up things I wanted to keep. I even gave up some MEMORY CLOTHES. I was sure that I had cut my wardrobe to the bone.
Wrong. After much waving around of arms, and accusations along the line of 'You know what we've talked about for a year'. Why are you surprised? I can't believe you're acting like you didn't know about this!' I then had to go back again and give away another third of my wardrobe. Painful. Very painful. For final insult, Drake then went through my clothes and picked out a few more items that he has always hated seeing me wear. To be fair.........I zealously pruned his wardrobe of everything that I hated seeing him in. It was a much higher pile of pruned items because Drake wears the same things endlessly. Clothes day was the low point of getting ready to go. I was miserable; Drake was frustrated by my attitude. Added as fuel to his hyper intensity of IF WE DON'T PUSH, WE WON'T BE READY, and my increasing physcial pain, it's a wonder we're still speaking. Lots of resentment on both sides - his justified and mine because even though I knew it was irrational, it made me feel better. The old devil living with us was in high cotton.
After backing off, sleeping on it, and realizing that the big picture of what we are trying to do is more important than a few clothes, I'm trying to get back into the enjoyment mode. There is something satisfying about releasing your stuff. I've sold beds, tables, bookcases, a dresser and a chest of drawers, two recliners, a TV and a stereo system without really turning a hair. I've got a garage packed to the rafters with stuff to price for the sale. I decided I'm not going to let a few clothes slow me down. I'm going. I want to go. I want a new life of new people, new places, new food, new sights. I want to have something to write about. To get that new life, this snake has to shed some skin. I've come to the conclusion that it's OK if some of it pulls a bit as it sheds away. it won't kill me, and from now on, it's not even going to faze me. Time to keep my eye on the big picture.
Oh, and today, even Drake admitted that perhaps he has been a bit intense. Just a bit. Now, we're laughing again. Now we're sure we will be ready to go - OK, I'm sure. I have faith in the best project manager in the world.
Monday, February 22, 2010
And now.....for Drake's meltdown
We're 100% 'go' now. It's getting pretty frantic around the soon to be old homestead. Today, Drake achieved his meltdown, and I achieved my Lenten sacrifice.
We decided we needed to finalize our storage unit. Now, Drake has spent hours planning how our storage unit will be loaded, and stacked in the unit we rent. To get a four bedroom household (minus a 5x10 cargo trailer of stuff) into a 10x20 foot storage unit takes a lot of planning, and plenty of erasures on a graph paper plan. And not just any two dimensional plan - but a 3 dimensional representation of where everything will be placed/stacked/tubbed and handled. However, after much work, and then more work, and then even more work as I changed my mind about what I was going to store/not store (Yes, he patiently changed his plan every time I changed my mind.), he finally had the perfect plan until today when we went to see the storage unit we will be renting.
The first unpleasant realization was that a 10x20 storage unit is not necessarily 10x20. The one we're renting is 19.6 x 9.9 as well as 18.10 along the other long wall because there's this fir down piece that cuts out along one of the short walls. AND if that wasn't enough, the door was totally in the wrong place. Drake assumed a long narrow space with the roll up door on the short wall. Oh, no, the door is offset on one of the long walls. On the plus side - the space is very secure, very clean and the managers actually live on-site. Plus, there's trailer storage space for when we're in town.
Melt down time. As we got back into the car after checking out the specific unit and measuring it, the first words out of his mouth were: "This is not going to work. I don't know what we are going to do. This is a disaster." Why is it we always jump to the negative conclusion. We wring our hands and assume that when our carefully laid plans blow up in smoke that they can't be replaced with something as workable. I think it must be human nature. 50,000 years ago, somebody probably had a melt down when the fire went out. (We have Quest for Fire recorded - and those meltdowns are regular occurrences in this movie. Of course, some of those situations were literally life and death.)
However, I didn't think it would go over too well if I suggested our storage unit problem wasn't life/death.) That's where the Lenten thing comes in - I actually held onto my temper. My Lenten sacrifice this year is to keep my temper in check. I won't say it was easy, and I won't say that I didn't come close to letting off a little steam, but overall I was pretty pleased with my effort. Unfortunately, now Drake knows what I'm trying to do over the next 37 days, and he's not above trying to aggravate me. I did see boxing gloves at the exercise studio this morning......... As long as I smile when I hit him, I should be OK.
The closer we get to the actual physical move, I'm realizing that there's still more STUFF that I'm going to be letting go. And, even better, I don't think I'm going to miss it. I've also realized that if I stay out on the road vagabonding for five years then all my stored stuff will seem like new when I recover it. Now, there's something to look forward to.
And, not to keep you in suspense, Drake has managed to revamp the storage plan, and he's confident the storage space is going to 'work'. Like I ever doubted it.
We decided we needed to finalize our storage unit. Now, Drake has spent hours planning how our storage unit will be loaded, and stacked in the unit we rent. To get a four bedroom household (minus a 5x10 cargo trailer of stuff) into a 10x20 foot storage unit takes a lot of planning, and plenty of erasures on a graph paper plan. And not just any two dimensional plan - but a 3 dimensional representation of where everything will be placed/stacked/tubbed and handled. However, after much work, and then more work, and then even more work as I changed my mind about what I was going to store/not store (Yes, he patiently changed his plan every time I changed my mind.), he finally had the perfect plan until today when we went to see the storage unit we will be renting.
The first unpleasant realization was that a 10x20 storage unit is not necessarily 10x20. The one we're renting is 19.6 x 9.9 as well as 18.10 along the other long wall because there's this fir down piece that cuts out along one of the short walls. AND if that wasn't enough, the door was totally in the wrong place. Drake assumed a long narrow space with the roll up door on the short wall. Oh, no, the door is offset on one of the long walls. On the plus side - the space is very secure, very clean and the managers actually live on-site. Plus, there's trailer storage space for when we're in town.
Melt down time. As we got back into the car after checking out the specific unit and measuring it, the first words out of his mouth were: "This is not going to work. I don't know what we are going to do. This is a disaster." Why is it we always jump to the negative conclusion. We wring our hands and assume that when our carefully laid plans blow up in smoke that they can't be replaced with something as workable. I think it must be human nature. 50,000 years ago, somebody probably had a melt down when the fire went out. (We have Quest for Fire recorded - and those meltdowns are regular occurrences in this movie. Of course, some of those situations were literally life and death.)
However, I didn't think it would go over too well if I suggested our storage unit problem wasn't life/death.) That's where the Lenten thing comes in - I actually held onto my temper. My Lenten sacrifice this year is to keep my temper in check. I won't say it was easy, and I won't say that I didn't come close to letting off a little steam, but overall I was pretty pleased with my effort. Unfortunately, now Drake knows what I'm trying to do over the next 37 days, and he's not above trying to aggravate me. I did see boxing gloves at the exercise studio this morning......... As long as I smile when I hit him, I should be OK.
The closer we get to the actual physical move, I'm realizing that there's still more STUFF that I'm going to be letting go. And, even better, I don't think I'm going to miss it. I've also realized that if I stay out on the road vagabonding for five years then all my stored stuff will seem like new when I recover it. Now, there's something to look forward to.
And, not to keep you in suspense, Drake has managed to revamp the storage plan, and he's confident the storage space is going to 'work'. Like I ever doubted it.
Wednesday, February 17, 2010
Melt down time! I finally discovered what 'stuff' I care about. I packed the kitchen - no problem. It didn't even faze me. However, what did faze me big time was packing my pottery. Almost everyone collects something. Yes, everyone. I collect three things: rocks - yes, I'm aware that's very strange. Seashells because Sarah and I love the beach, and hand thrown pottery.
I started collecting pottery before I could afford to collect it. In college a friend of a friend was a potter, and I loved his stuff! (Good call on my part since then he's become the 'big dog' at the Rhode Island School of Design.) He couldn't believe in 1970 that anyone wanted to buy his stuff. I certainly did. Twenty years later he tried to buy back some pieces I had of his, so he could break them. They weren't 'good enough'. I just laughed and refused. We collectors do tend to hang on to our collections with a surprising ferocity. actually had the balls to suggest that I could do with fewer rocks. I just looked at him like he had just graduated from idiot school. Give up my rocks? NEVER! In my heart of hearts I know, of course, that my rocks are as stupid and worthless as my 41 year old greeting card collection, but it makes no difference.
Ah, but I can justify my pottery pieces. Now we're talking ART. I'm always on the look-out for pieces that really speak to me. I've gotten more and more selective as I've acquired pieces over a 40 year span. My theory is that hand thrown pottery is some of the last accessible art. You can find it everywhere. It's affordable. Each piece is unique. I have pieces from almost everywhere I've traveled even if I had to mail it back. I think the best collecting story is the Delft fruit bowl story. In 1980, I wanted a piece of Delft, but didn't want to carry it around all over Europe (we were there for 30 days - great trip). I waited until the airport when I was leaving to buy my piece. Drake, poor fool, was really tired at this point, and said: "Just go over to the store and buy what you want." I took him at his word and spent $250 on a fruit bowl. That put him into shock - remember, this is 1980! Believe me, he's NEVER said that again. He has always made sure he participated in the pottery buys after that. I have racu pieces, porcelian pieces, earthenware pieces, a triangular platter on triangular legs, red ones, blue ones, green one, black ones, white ones. Oh the list goes on.
Two days ago, I had to pick only a few pieces to take with me. That put me into agony. Then I had to bubblewrap all the rest for storage. (I now have 'bubblewrap' arm.) I finally told Drake: "I'm mad'; I'm sad; and this is ALL YOUR FAULT. You'd better put on some happy music." I wrapped and wrapped. I almost cried several times, but I kept mentally pulling up my sox and perservering. I perservered to the tune of seven boxes of wrapped pottery. I kept thinking.......'I bought this piece in Acapulco in 1973. This one is from Boston - and it was a surprise that arrived after we got home. This one came from Vienna. I found this delicate piece in the Carribbean.' It felt like a funeral. And the worst part? I'm still sad.
I've truly had very few qualms about this great adventure. To be laid low by 'stuff' has been a humbling experience. I guess I'm not as immune to the feelings that I need my stuff as I had hoped. Good news, though, - couldn't care less about the kitchen stuff.
Monday, February 8, 2010
Bon Voyage
The balloon has gone up. The starting gun has fired. We're in labor, and FINALLY the baby is going to be born. For everyone who hasn't heard yet.........the house is sold (99% sure the deal is going to 'make'), and we will be packing up and leaving Hurst the last week of March. I've been joking with my friends who I've told about the hosue sale that this is like being pregnant. You wish for it; you work for it; you're chomping at the bit for it, BUT when it happens, it's such a shock.
That's how I'm feeling. I can't believe something we've talked about, decided to do, and planned for is finally here and it's going to happen. First, let me say that I can't believe how much 'stuff' I still have! l'm writing the blog today to avoid tearing into my office/craft/embroidery/sewing room. I really dread this room. I know that I'm going to be disgusted to find all my good intentions carefully wrapped up in plastic bags. All those clothes I planned to make. All those embroidery projects that I BROUGHT HOME FROM ENGLAND IN 2000. All that thread. All that material. What to take. What to store. What to sell or give away. I'll just have to apply my rule: How would I feel about this object if I didn't see it for five years?
My friend, Martha, is a recipent of the rule. I wanted her to have a piece of my own personally created embroidery, so I brought out all the pieces I've finished that are stacked in a drawer. (Yes, there are lots of them that most people have never even seen.) We smoothed each piece out on the dining room table, and she liked a couple. However, I knew in my heart of hearts which piece she would really love. I love it too. I loved it enough to frame it, and there are only two pieces of my own work that I've ever framed. I was struggling with selfishness. I hadn't even put the piece out for her to consider.
Then I thought of the RULE........ The piece I knew she would love would most likely wind up in storage - closed away for years. Because I thought of this piece with love, it would be so sad for it not to be enjoyed and treasured since it would be locked away in a dark storage locker. Then it was easy to let go of. Now it lives in the light. My reward will be that my dear friend, Martha, will think of me every time she passes it hanging on her wall. And knowing her, she will say a little prayer for my well-being. I learned a valuable lesson that's going to help me with the divestment of my stuff.
Everyone has possessions - sometimes they take on such magnitude in our minds that the sheer volume of them is overwhelming, or the thought of doing without them causes panic. They become a huge burden that we either hoard away, or cart around, or flaunt. Our stuff rules our lives. It's troubling to realize how much my life is ruled by the stuff I own. When the 'we're selling our big house and leaving' entered the realm of RIGHT NOW, I have rediscovered the struggle of letting go of stuff. I can feel that panic rising: "What if I need that?" "What if I might need that?" "It will cost me money to replace it, and I'll have to sell it for pennies on the dollar." Oh, lots of those kinds of thoughts start swirling around your head.
So, I've just decided to apply the RULE over the next two months. It helps put into perspective how little possessions really mean when you apply the five year rule.
Stay tuned. This is going to be an adventure!
That's how I'm feeling. I can't believe something we've talked about, decided to do, and planned for is finally here and it's going to happen. First, let me say that I can't believe how much 'stuff' I still have! l'm writing the blog today to avoid tearing into my office/craft/embroidery/sewing room. I really dread this room. I know that I'm going to be disgusted to find all my good intentions carefully wrapped up in plastic bags. All those clothes I planned to make. All those embroidery projects that I BROUGHT HOME FROM ENGLAND IN 2000. All that thread. All that material. What to take. What to store. What to sell or give away. I'll just have to apply my rule: How would I feel about this object if I didn't see it for five years?
My friend, Martha, is a recipent of the rule. I wanted her to have a piece of my own personally created embroidery, so I brought out all the pieces I've finished that are stacked in a drawer. (Yes, there are lots of them that most people have never even seen.) We smoothed each piece out on the dining room table, and she liked a couple. However, I knew in my heart of hearts which piece she would really love. I love it too. I loved it enough to frame it, and there are only two pieces of my own work that I've ever framed. I was struggling with selfishness. I hadn't even put the piece out for her to consider.
Then I thought of the RULE........ The piece I knew she would love would most likely wind up in storage - closed away for years. Because I thought of this piece with love, it would be so sad for it not to be enjoyed and treasured since it would be locked away in a dark storage locker. Then it was easy to let go of. Now it lives in the light. My reward will be that my dear friend, Martha, will think of me every time she passes it hanging on her wall. And knowing her, she will say a little prayer for my well-being. I learned a valuable lesson that's going to help me with the divestment of my stuff.
Everyone has possessions - sometimes they take on such magnitude in our minds that the sheer volume of them is overwhelming, or the thought of doing without them causes panic. They become a huge burden that we either hoard away, or cart around, or flaunt. Our stuff rules our lives. It's troubling to realize how much my life is ruled by the stuff I own. When the 'we're selling our big house and leaving' entered the realm of RIGHT NOW, I have rediscovered the struggle of letting go of stuff. I can feel that panic rising: "What if I need that?" "What if I might need that?" "It will cost me money to replace it, and I'll have to sell it for pennies on the dollar." Oh, lots of those kinds of thoughts start swirling around your head.
So, I've just decided to apply the RULE over the next two months. It helps put into perspective how little possessions really mean when you apply the five year rule.
Stay tuned. This is going to be an adventure!
Friday, October 2, 2009
All Dressed Up and No Where to Go!
Now it's time to wait...............
I feel like a senior in high school. Remember those feelings? Torn between being incredibly ready for that next big thing after graduation while simultaneously being sad that a part of life was coming to an end. That whole year in the back of your mind was...."It's the last time I will........., well, you can fill in the blank. And it all seemed to go so fast. High school was over in the blink of an eye. Everybody told you it was a 'best time of your life'. I always suspected older people who said that had high school safely viewed with rose colored glasses from the perspective of hindsight.
On the other hand, that senior year rolled by like molasses. Everybody still treated me like I was a kid or something. From my eighteen year old vantage point, didn't these people know that I was grown. I was ready to leave the nest, sprout my wings, get out into the world. I was done with all this kid stuff - let's get on with it. Graduation was never going to arrive.
The same thing is now happening to me at the age of almost 60 - well, OK, I'll be 60 in just under 12 months, but it sounds better to say 'I'm 60'. Back to the point. Forty eight years after high school, I'm now having all those same eighteen year old's feelings. The house is ready. We're poised, ready to drive out of town, get the show on the road, and take off. Let's get on with the plan! Simultaneously, every time I go somewhere, I'm thinking, "Is this the last visit to this place for who knows how long?"
I'm struck anew by the comfort of the quality of life in Hurst. I know where everything is. I know when anything changes. I'll see people I know well or know casually almost every place I go in the course of a normal day. (My favorite happened this week: I'm getting a massage from Scott. He mentions that he's got to get Ryan, his son, ready for a big weekend because Ryan is dating Gabby Navarro's daughter and it's her Quincinera. Well, I've been casually acquainted with Gabby for years since she's the owner of Michelito's where we eat Mexican food at least twice a month, and she's dating Chris who was our exercise instructor for about 6 months. I mention this, and Scott replies, oh, yeah, Chris gave Ryan his hockey equipment. Not too many degrees of separation in Hurst!) We're comfortable with our neighbors and have a 'neighborhood' that feels like it's ours. I suppose after 19 years, it should.
Now, I'm starting to wonder how it's going to feel for everything to be different. The simple things - like where's the grocery store, and oh, do they have tortillas? Will I be freaked out and ultimately depressed by constant 'difference', or will I be exhilarated by the experience? I'm hedging with an Iphone so I can take advantage of Google maps to lessen the 'oh, crap, lost again' feeling. Again the flip side of the coin arrives. I'm eager to try new churches. I want to see what other places do for mission. How will they receive a stranger in their midst? How will God call upon me. After watching Ken Burns' film on the National Parks, I can hardly wait to see some new ones. I'm ready for a different climate, and new vegetation. I want new theaters, ballet companies, and to meet new people. I'm ready to break out of the routine.
Just waiting. Patiently some days when I'm feeling nostalgic, and not so patiently other days when I can hardly wait to start this new life.
Know anybody that wants to buy a house? I have one for sale in a great town.
I feel like a senior in high school. Remember those feelings? Torn between being incredibly ready for that next big thing after graduation while simultaneously being sad that a part of life was coming to an end. That whole year in the back of your mind was...."It's the last time I will........., well, you can fill in the blank. And it all seemed to go so fast. High school was over in the blink of an eye. Everybody told you it was a 'best time of your life'. I always suspected older people who said that had high school safely viewed with rose colored glasses from the perspective of hindsight.
On the other hand, that senior year rolled by like molasses. Everybody still treated me like I was a kid or something. From my eighteen year old vantage point, didn't these people know that I was grown. I was ready to leave the nest, sprout my wings, get out into the world. I was done with all this kid stuff - let's get on with it. Graduation was never going to arrive.
The same thing is now happening to me at the age of almost 60 - well, OK, I'll be 60 in just under 12 months, but it sounds better to say 'I'm 60'. Back to the point. Forty eight years after high school, I'm now having all those same eighteen year old's feelings. The house is ready. We're poised, ready to drive out of town, get the show on the road, and take off. Let's get on with the plan! Simultaneously, every time I go somewhere, I'm thinking, "Is this the last visit to this place for who knows how long?"
I'm struck anew by the comfort of the quality of life in Hurst. I know where everything is. I know when anything changes. I'll see people I know well or know casually almost every place I go in the course of a normal day. (My favorite happened this week: I'm getting a massage from Scott. He mentions that he's got to get Ryan, his son, ready for a big weekend because Ryan is dating Gabby Navarro's daughter and it's her Quincinera. Well, I've been casually acquainted with Gabby for years since she's the owner of Michelito's where we eat Mexican food at least twice a month, and she's dating Chris who was our exercise instructor for about 6 months. I mention this, and Scott replies, oh, yeah, Chris gave Ryan his hockey equipment. Not too many degrees of separation in Hurst!) We're comfortable with our neighbors and have a 'neighborhood' that feels like it's ours. I suppose after 19 years, it should.
Now, I'm starting to wonder how it's going to feel for everything to be different. The simple things - like where's the grocery store, and oh, do they have tortillas? Will I be freaked out and ultimately depressed by constant 'difference', or will I be exhilarated by the experience? I'm hedging with an Iphone so I can take advantage of Google maps to lessen the 'oh, crap, lost again' feeling. Again the flip side of the coin arrives. I'm eager to try new churches. I want to see what other places do for mission. How will they receive a stranger in their midst? How will God call upon me. After watching Ken Burns' film on the National Parks, I can hardly wait to see some new ones. I'm ready for a different climate, and new vegetation. I want new theaters, ballet companies, and to meet new people. I'm ready to break out of the routine.
Just waiting. Patiently some days when I'm feeling nostalgic, and not so patiently other days when I can hardly wait to start this new life.
Know anybody that wants to buy a house? I have one for sale in a great town.
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