GARAGE SALE

After the snow and cold of Friday, Saturday was a great day to kick off our garage sale. People began showing up an hour early. I wanted to charge them double, or tell them to come back later. Robert ran out to greet them. (Do I need to say we balance each other nicely?)

They came in waves. I'd spent a fortune imo, $55, to run an ad in the newspaper. I posted on Craig's List and a large school e-mail list here (which were both free). The traffic seemed typical, the pros coming early, the grandparents buying for grandkids (just like my in-laws used to do for my kids!), the families out doing something together. There were so many nice people, and I realized what a hermit I've become in the past 2-3 years. I met a man who graduated from my high school in California. People continued to come an hour after our posted closing time, but no problem. It wasn't like we had other plans! It was a long day, seven hours of being "on," making small talk with strangers, dancing around prices, and taking money. Ugh. We sold a LOT of stuff, but we didn't have a bunch of big ticket items, and I really thought we'd have made more money.

This morning was much slower, but I didn't expect much from a Sunday morning garage sale. People trickled in, but we decided to pack up early. Robert and I began setting aside some baby clothes for a friend of his. A man came by looking for a jogging stroller and came across the rest of the clothes. He had hearing aids in both ears and was somewhat difficult to understand. Of course, I wondered if he could understand me, and I worried about the radio that we had in the background. He called his wife to check on sizes, and we began going through boxes together. I'm the typical mom, flying through everything, easily weeding through sizes. He was the typical dad, unsure what he was looking for. He finally offered $50 for everything. Impulsively, I said yes, and he was quite stunned, asking me twice if I was sure. My only concern was that he wasn't buying them just to resell. He even had to leave to get the money.

So we packed the remaining seven boxes of girls' clothes into his car. Both before he came back, and after he left, I cried. Big time. All those clothes . . . they hold such great memories. They are flashbacks for me of Holly's life, and it's much easier for me to part with them a little at a time. (In fact, we've passed on so many over the years, it was a surprise to see how much we still had.) So I cried, and Robert comforted me.

I am glad that someone else can use them, but I'm sad that they are gone from my life. They mean so much more. Holly's first birthday outfit. Pajamas that I remember. Clothes she wore to preschool, to kindergarten, for holidays. Outfits that are captured in photographs. And I can imagine this man bringing all these things home, and how happy his wife is that he found all of this for her. An unexpected surprise for their little girl, to wear for other celebrations, for day to day life, holidays and school, and more photographs. Clothes to linger on in another family's memory. Strangers to us and now our lives forever entwined.