Just a note: The post, below, turned out to be terribly long. I'm not sure if it's interesting or as dull as pocket-lint. In any case, Notes. . .is winding down. One more post, I think, and then I'll hip-hop over entirely to Wazoo Goes West. So please, in a day or two, consider subscribing over at that blog. I'd hate to lose all of you when I move.
Also, at the urging of some, I'm thinking over turning Notes from Wazoo Farm into a book. I have a few other pots bubbling right now, but I'd love for you all to mull, too, about what you've loved best about Wazoo. Which posts, which story-lines, which bits and baubles? I'd love your input, and thanks, all of you, for being such wonderful readers.
Monday, September 17, 2012
Here's what I wrote, hunkered down at the kitchen table on the day of the big sale--the grand shave of all our worldly possessions--on a shopping list pad, in between totalling purchases. I was feeling under the weather (think of the book The Red Tent; that's where I should have been hunkered with a cup of herbal and a good book) and Martin was stationed outside, so it was just me, mighty I, in charge inside. The main floor of the house (except the kitchen where the 'check-out' was), the porch, and the sizable driveway overflowed with everything from furniture to books to our Ford truck. And it got busy, busy, busy. We'd advertised in the paper and posted signs all over town. In hopes of bringing in more earnest buyers, I'd posted adverts for an ESTATE SALE, GOOD PRICES. . .but Martin informed me that you can't have an estate sale unless someone has died. Our particular endeavor, he said, was a MOVING SALE. But it was too late. So outside I'd thumbtacked a huge sign reading, MOVING/ESTATE SALE (NOBODY DIED). Before we'd drunk our first cup of tea early in the morning, the first buyers had pushed by our barrier and were asking about prices.
Here's my constantly interrupted write-up, spanning about eight hours:
* * * *
There's a big sale going on and I am in the kitchen wishing I were elsewhere. How strange to have your house filled with people buying your things! I have--count them--six signs in the kitchen telling people nothing in here is for sale and yet a few people keep wandering in, asking--yes!--if anything is for sale. SIGNS, people, SIGNS. Martin, bless him, is outside working the crowd. A lady just told me it's supposed to rain this afternoon, so she, and I, hope that our stuff is sold by then. Otherwise there will be a lot of soggy books. I wish Martin and I could communicate by mental telepathy. He just came through on a mission with a phone to his ear. Martin says MADNESS OUTSIDE so I am very glad that I am inside--albeit alone--after all.
9:42. Much of the less expensive furniture has been hauled off at a bit of a discount. It's better not to think of how much one paid, originally, for items. It's certainly best to get thing gone as fast as possible. . . .I just had this absolutely absurd urge to keep a black cat candle holder for Halloween. Maybe I'll nab it and--I DID nab it--and take it out this October and WONDER why I saved it from being sold! It was hand-made in India, after all. I will pay myself a dollar for it.
Someone just bought the giraffe book-end and the jade good luck charm that our foreign-exchange student from Hong Kong gave us. All the mattresses [our guestroom beds which we gave away] are gone now. The queen got taken by two fellows, one very tall one in a sleeveless T-shirt with luxurious, long, curly hair--"Y'uns leaving Greene County?" he said, and addressed me as "Miss" which I thought was quite nice and archaic, really.
Quarter after ten and I am very warm but the house is just a big lighter. I just gave away three books to a rather nervous young Elementary Education major who had a lovely smile after she began talking. IKEA bookshelf is gone! Someone sat on the twin leather chairs and seemed to like them but decided not to buy. The camping mats are gone to a hunter-looking fellow who seemed a little doubtful about the rock-bottom price (how could I go any cheaper?) For a minute, all is quiet.
10:32. An older lady with a cane just picked up the mop [almost new with a big new bottle of cleaner--I wasn't selling anything nasty, promise] and put it down again. 10:42. A woman loved the big white mirror from Texas but decided against it. I had high hopes because she looked like a hippie. Microwave cart and bookshelf, gone! Drying rack is gone.
Martin says to stay firm on prices but I just want to get rid of everything and see it all go to good homes. Otherwise, we'll just end up giving it away anyhow. A man with a prosthetic leg walked in--"Just lookin'!" Wonder if he'll find anything that interests him? How about some doilies? Four wine glasses? An antique shabby chic mirror? He found the poker chip set--still almost new--I bought Martin some years back. Turns out that we don't play poker all that much and you don't need to ante up for Scrabble.
I have been smiling and being pleasant to beat the band. Martin, by his account, is a total stickler and does not back down on prices. I cannot say the same for myself. The old woman who bought the mop--her husband held it at arm's length and said, "Don't we have these all over the place?" Mops? How many mops does she have?
I think we should slash down everything by half and move it out of here. A lovely woman just poked her head in and told me her daughter used to live in Seattle but now she's in New Orleans. It's so hot today, I can just imagine what it's like in New Orleans. Just let the drop-leaf desk go for ten dollars under. Sold the small antique table, some lamps, a couple of pretty plates.
The amoire--the beast--must go!!! An older woman just walked in with a wad of chewing tobacco in her cheek. Martin is "trolling" as he calls it. How much is the bike trailer? What is the Pack 'n Play? Lots of stuff still for sale, Martin is telling a man, but no corner stands, which is what the guy's looking for. Somebody wants to trade our truck for his motorcycle. "I don't do motorcycles," Martin told them. I'm getting reading to just pack this stuff up and take it to Goodwill. Two more folks coming up the front stairs. 11:55. Boredom sets in. At some point I'll have to eat.
People are comforted by chatting about the weather. "It's a hot one," a woman just said, no exclamation mark, just flat. That last stair to the front porch is a real doozy. An older woman just struggled up it and into our living room where she collapsed on our front porch. Sold the mirror to a young couple for half the price. He said he's going to hang it over the couch and I warned him repeatedly to anchor it--it's huge--so it won't brain anyone. He's a former boxer and looks rather tough so hopefully he really knows how to anchor.
4:07. Not much left. The amoire is still there. It will never leave apparently and we will have it in our driveway forever. Lots of looking from a family of ten from Arizona who has bought the notoriously huge but beautiful historical home on Sherman Avenue and High Street with the stained glass window. Wow, Martin is so great at chatting with strangers. I am tapped out at the moment. Just sitting here, having my period and watching the house empty out. . .too bad the family from Arizona is squeezed into a tiny apartment in West Virginia--is that legal?--while they wait for the house. Oh, man, I could really use a cool shower. At some point we will have to shut down but for now, here I sit, hiding. . .again, and counting the money. We made over a thousand dollars!
* * * *
We ended up finally selling the amoire for a song to a single mom with two kids who offered to take anything else we wanted to give them. The daughter followed me around, asking "Can I have that? What about that?" as I unstrung the curtains and piled things for them in the corner of the driveway. The family settled down on the furniture there and the mom smoked and waited for a brother and his pick-up but I couldn't make any more small talk.
At last, I shut our front door and locked it. The house echoed. It's amazing how you can lighten yourself in one day, let go of a thousand things that you held onto for almost a decade. And nobody misses any of it, bar Bea who noticed her little telephone has mysteriously disappeared. I promise myself never to accumulate like that again. Freedom is a more wonderful thing and the getting-rid-of process is such hard work.
The day after the sale, a couple of people dropped by to check out a few remaining pieces on the porch. As I spoke with them about my antique banker's table where I'd done years of writing, I realized I was seeing only half of each their faces. I couldn't really tell what they looked like, because I could view either their noses and eyes or their mouths and chins. Then my vision completely dissolved into waves--a classic migraine, which I used to suffer through frequently in high school but now only get during periods of extreme stress, like the time I fell down the stairs when I was pregnant. I lay down with my eyes tightly shut, turned on the air conditioning, and tried to forget where I was. Four days later, we would truck out our remaining belongings and head west--and we would still be surprised by how much we had kept.
The money from the sale went to new bikes when we reached Washington. And the truck? Our beloved old Ford stayed "in the family," so to speak--Tonya and John bump around the ridge with it, and their girls have found "Ole Bessie's" wide bed a perfect perch from which to swing from the barn rafters.
Here's my constantly interrupted write-up, spanning about eight hours:
* * * *
There's a big sale going on and I am in the kitchen wishing I were elsewhere. How strange to have your house filled with people buying your things! I have--count them--six signs in the kitchen telling people nothing in here is for sale and yet a few people keep wandering in, asking--yes!--if anything is for sale. SIGNS, people, SIGNS. Martin, bless him, is outside working the crowd. A lady just told me it's supposed to rain this afternoon, so she, and I, hope that our stuff is sold by then. Otherwise there will be a lot of soggy books. I wish Martin and I could communicate by mental telepathy. He just came through on a mission with a phone to his ear. Martin says MADNESS OUTSIDE so I am very glad that I am inside--albeit alone--after all.
9:42. Much of the less expensive furniture has been hauled off at a bit of a discount. It's better not to think of how much one paid, originally, for items. It's certainly best to get thing gone as fast as possible. . . .I just had this absolutely absurd urge to keep a black cat candle holder for Halloween. Maybe I'll nab it and--I DID nab it--and take it out this October and WONDER why I saved it from being sold! It was hand-made in India, after all. I will pay myself a dollar for it.
Someone just bought the giraffe book-end and the jade good luck charm that our foreign-exchange student from Hong Kong gave us. All the mattresses [our guestroom beds which we gave away] are gone now. The queen got taken by two fellows, one very tall one in a sleeveless T-shirt with luxurious, long, curly hair--"Y'uns leaving Greene County?" he said, and addressed me as "Miss" which I thought was quite nice and archaic, really.
Quarter after ten and I am very warm but the house is just a big lighter. I just gave away three books to a rather nervous young Elementary Education major who had a lovely smile after she began talking. IKEA bookshelf is gone! Someone sat on the twin leather chairs and seemed to like them but decided not to buy. The camping mats are gone to a hunter-looking fellow who seemed a little doubtful about the rock-bottom price (how could I go any cheaper?) For a minute, all is quiet.
10:32. An older lady with a cane just picked up the mop [almost new with a big new bottle of cleaner--I wasn't selling anything nasty, promise] and put it down again. 10:42. A woman loved the big white mirror from Texas but decided against it. I had high hopes because she looked like a hippie. Microwave cart and bookshelf, gone! Drying rack is gone.
Martin says to stay firm on prices but I just want to get rid of everything and see it all go to good homes. Otherwise, we'll just end up giving it away anyhow. A man with a prosthetic leg walked in--"Just lookin'!" Wonder if he'll find anything that interests him? How about some doilies? Four wine glasses? An antique shabby chic mirror? He found the poker chip set--still almost new--I bought Martin some years back. Turns out that we don't play poker all that much and you don't need to ante up for Scrabble.
I have been smiling and being pleasant to beat the band. Martin, by his account, is a total stickler and does not back down on prices. I cannot say the same for myself. The old woman who bought the mop--her husband held it at arm's length and said, "Don't we have these all over the place?" Mops? How many mops does she have?
I think we should slash down everything by half and move it out of here. A lovely woman just poked her head in and told me her daughter used to live in Seattle but now she's in New Orleans. It's so hot today, I can just imagine what it's like in New Orleans. Just let the drop-leaf desk go for ten dollars under. Sold the small antique table, some lamps, a couple of pretty plates.
The amoire--the beast--must go!!! An older woman just walked in with a wad of chewing tobacco in her cheek. Martin is "trolling" as he calls it. How much is the bike trailer? What is the Pack 'n Play? Lots of stuff still for sale, Martin is telling a man, but no corner stands, which is what the guy's looking for. Somebody wants to trade our truck for his motorcycle. "I don't do motorcycles," Martin told them. I'm getting reading to just pack this stuff up and take it to Goodwill. Two more folks coming up the front stairs. 11:55. Boredom sets in. At some point I'll have to eat.
People are comforted by chatting about the weather. "It's a hot one," a woman just said, no exclamation mark, just flat. That last stair to the front porch is a real doozy. An older woman just struggled up it and into our living room where she collapsed on our front porch. Sold the mirror to a young couple for half the price. He said he's going to hang it over the couch and I warned him repeatedly to anchor it--it's huge--so it won't brain anyone. He's a former boxer and looks rather tough so hopefully he really knows how to anchor.
4:07. Not much left. The amoire is still there. It will never leave apparently and we will have it in our driveway forever. Lots of looking from a family of ten from Arizona who has bought the notoriously huge but beautiful historical home on Sherman Avenue and High Street with the stained glass window. Wow, Martin is so great at chatting with strangers. I am tapped out at the moment. Just sitting here, having my period and watching the house empty out. . .too bad the family from Arizona is squeezed into a tiny apartment in West Virginia--is that legal?--while they wait for the house. Oh, man, I could really use a cool shower. At some point we will have to shut down but for now, here I sit, hiding. . .again, and counting the money. We made over a thousand dollars!
* * * *
We ended up finally selling the amoire for a song to a single mom with two kids who offered to take anything else we wanted to give them. The daughter followed me around, asking "Can I have that? What about that?" as I unstrung the curtains and piled things for them in the corner of the driveway. The family settled down on the furniture there and the mom smoked and waited for a brother and his pick-up but I couldn't make any more small talk.
At last, I shut our front door and locked it. The house echoed. It's amazing how you can lighten yourself in one day, let go of a thousand things that you held onto for almost a decade. And nobody misses any of it, bar Bea who noticed her little telephone has mysteriously disappeared. I promise myself never to accumulate like that again. Freedom is a more wonderful thing and the getting-rid-of process is such hard work.
The day after the sale, a couple of people dropped by to check out a few remaining pieces on the porch. As I spoke with them about my antique banker's table where I'd done years of writing, I realized I was seeing only half of each their faces. I couldn't really tell what they looked like, because I could view either their noses and eyes or their mouths and chins. Then my vision completely dissolved into waves--a classic migraine, which I used to suffer through frequently in high school but now only get during periods of extreme stress, like the time I fell down the stairs when I was pregnant. I lay down with my eyes tightly shut, turned on the air conditioning, and tried to forget where I was. Four days later, we would truck out our remaining belongings and head west--and we would still be surprised by how much we had kept.
The money from the sale went to new bikes when we reached Washington. And the truck? Our beloved old Ford stayed "in the family," so to speak--Tonya and John bump around the ridge with it, and their girls have found "Ole Bessie's" wide bed a perfect perch from which to swing from the barn rafters.
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