The Best Part of A Yard Sale

Yesterday my friend Carol hosted a yard sale. She had invited a few friends to bring merchandise, and I jumped at the chance to eliminate part of my over-large stash of art materials. I took bundles of small driftwood, bags of leather scraps, assorted seeds and pods, beach bones and shells, gourds, fake hair pieces, felted wool, books, fabrics and lots more.

Well, the day was chilly and gusts of wind came from first one direction and then another, but the sun shone brightly and spirits were high. The mood was welcoming and friendly. Customers chatted with the sellers and each other, and exclaimed over the odd collection. They asked questions and several people said to me, "We like the same things!" And they bought some of everything I brought and all of some things.

I took a banker's box full of silk ties, some disassembled. One family of three sat on the lawn, picking through the box. When the middle-school-age son brought a handful of ties to the cashier table, I asked him if he liked ties. He replied that he wears one to school every day. His dad, who was also buying some ties, said that his son gets teased by his schoolmates for this practice. A discussion of peer pressure and marching to one's own drum ensued. The mom bought some, too, for a total of 27.

A young woman was thrilled to find a hardback copy of Education and Ecstasy, which I purchased in the 1960's. She said that her paperback copy was worn thin and she had been searching in vain for a hardback copy.

A burly middle-aged biker fell in love with a crucifix catfish breastbone I found on the Galveston beach.  He asked if I would accept $2 instead of the $2.50 I was asking. I said yes. Then, after having paid for his purchase, he turned back to the cashier and handed her fifty cents, saying, "I shouldn't haggle over such a beautiful object."

A young man rode up on a bike, dismounted, and went from table to table looking at the merchandise. Unlike others, he didn't greet us or look at anyone or join in conversation. He kept returning to my table of beach finds, examining an engineer's compass which was lightly crusted with tiny sea creature shells but still working. At last he walked to his bike, pulled up the hood of his sweatshirt, and seemed about to ride away, when he turned once more toward the beach find table. I got there just as he did and asked if he liked the compass. He shyly nodded. I handed him the compass, saying "It's my gift to you." He murmured "thank you" and walked back to his bike, gazing at the compass in his hand.

So it isn't a matter of moving unneeded objects out of my house, nor a matter of making a few bucks. What matters is the joy of memorable, genuine interactions with strangers who leave feeling they have found treasure. It's the pleasure of finding loving homes for things I have loved that matters.  And that is the best part of a yard sale.

I was so caught up in the moment it never occurred to me to take photos at the sale, although my camera was close at hand. So, in lieu of sale photos, I offer another type of loving human interaction, although this one also involves a dog.

Zander hugs Annie.