Kind of, sort of. I like to call myself a pack rat. I must have learned it from Popa who had all kinds of stuff tucked away in his garage. I also like the theory that having gone through The Great Depression, Popa knew that there might be a use for a nail, screw or piece of metal, at some point, you just never know.
Having moved more times than I care to admit, I have been bad about shoving things in boxes only to forget about them. I am really bad about not throwing about cards. I just can’t, so each year at Christmas when I pull the box that houses my card holder out, I dump last year’s cards into the box. I have a really nice collection. . .
I challenged myself a few weeks ago to prepare for a friend’s yard sale. I hate yard sales because this is what I remember from when I was much younger. . .
Mom would place an ad with a start time, people would start knocking on the door an hour before the start time. . .then that knick knack marked $.50 would be haggled over so they could get it for less. Really? You just want to pay a quarter for it?
The best time was when we had it in our basement where there were two rooms with doors shut. They tried to open those doors, wanted to go upstairs for a potty break or worse, thinking there might be something up there they could buy.
Nightmares all around and yet, here I am, getting ready to partake in this crazy ritual. Living in an apartment means you normally take your stuff to Goodwill but this year I decided that if I could make a few bucks off of my old stuff, then I would make the effort.
Last night was all about going through my closet on the deck. Oh my. . .boxes that were packed by the movers last year with tons of paper, all over my deck. I did find more clothes (that don’t fit) some kitchen items (that I no longer use) and an array of VHS tapes. Not to mention some other stuff that should have been gone a long time ago.
I am working on pricing everything now. And one of these days I will work on getting everything else sorted and into plastic totes. And trying to convince myself that I no longer need my Zeta workbook, a few old magazines and stuffed animals out the ying yang. I haven’t even gone into the second bedroom to finish digging out the rest of my junk.
If I looked at what I had as a stranger, I would definitely think that this crazy person has some hoarding issues. But the good news is I can still walk around my deck and my apartment. The bad news is I am really good at holding on to things that are more keepsakes than items I actually need.
My biggest hope is that I don’t accidentally price the cat and take him with me Friday. That would be bad and no one could really afford him anyway.