Saturday, September 4, 2010

Bye-bye, stuff . . .

“It feels like what I imagine attending my own funeral would be,” observed Hubby, as we collapsed in exhaustion after a frenzied seven-hour-long Moving Sale last Saturday. I had joked about calling it an Estate Sale, with the caveat “We’re Not Dead Yet, but the Move Nearly Killed Us.”

Seeing beloved possessions depart from our garage with complete strangers was difficult for both of us. And yet it was gratifying, too. When you’re crazy about something you no longer have room for, seeing an excited new owner is uplifting.

The drafting machine Hubby purchased years ago, when he was doing design work by hand, delighted UW teacher who is going to display it in the School of Architecture’s historic exhibit. The barely-used bed tray tickled a mother of young children, chattering of her hopes for breakfast in bed on Mother’s Day. The weed eater appealed to an entrepreneurial woman starting her own gardening business, and the folding lawn chairs headed off under the arms of a young couple dreaming of leisurely days at the beach together. We made $377 on items priced mostly at 10¢, 25¢, 50¢, $1 and $2. A few things went for more.

The saddest thing for both Hubby and me was heaping boxes with the unwanted things when the sale was over. A mixer—used first by my mother, then by me from 1950s on—didn’t sell. No doubt it will end up in a Vintage Shoppe somewhere . . . but it will seem strange to beat egg whites for Christmas meringues with my little mixer after using that machine for more than four decades. Hubby piled loose hardware (not to be needed at our new place) into boxes with a stoic face. It was hard not to think about the hopes and dreams attached to various items’ acquisition.

We’re supposed to feel liberated as we shed possessions. I’m working on it. A little part of me is still grieving. Saying goodbye is always tough. Hubby’s observation rings true.

1 comment:

Old Gray Prof said...

What a nice little concoction you whipped up with your mixer, Sally.