EVERYTHING
FOR YOUR FAMILY
Mother Knows Best
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I love a good garage sale. That's what we call them here in Southern California. Martha Stewart goes to "tag sales." I suppose, like Martha herself, a tag sale must be an upscale version of what we do. Here, we do garage sales. It's a ritual many families participate in at least every couple of years. Or, every couple of kids. The event is an opportunity to rid your home of all the stuff you no longer need, all in one day, not to mention the chance to make a few bucks. Our neighborhood boasts of having the biggest garage sale in the world. In fact, it might be. For more than 20 years, on average more than 100 homes have participated in this annual two-day event that draws literally thousands of people. You'll find everything for sale: antiques, memorabilia (my sons bought a box with at least 1,000 baseball cards for $3), crafts, clothes and furniture. Everything. One family sells homemade egg rolls to hungry shoppers. With a lemonade stand on every corner, even the children rake in the cash. There is so much traffic that the mailman delays his route until late afternoon when the shoppers are spent, because otherwise he can't get through. Neighbors have actually sold cars and even a house, thanks to the volume of folks who traipse through our streets. Everyone makes money that day. Except us. I'm a bad merchant. As shoppers make offers, I take things back. To the woman who picked up my youngest son's stuffed ninja turtle and held out a dollar, I quickly said, "It's not for sale." "Two dollars," she pushed the money toward me but I was able to wrestle Donatello out of her grasp anyway. I can't explain it. All of a sudden, images of my little guy tucked into bed with this stuffed green turtle overcame me as I recalled kissing them both goodnight. I returned Donatello to safety inside the house. Since we don't like to spend hours pricing items, we usually just throw out a starting bid to interested shoppers. However, because my husband and I place different values on our trash, we tend to confuse the customers. "How much?" a man holds up a ceramic teapot. "Three dollars," I say at the same time my husband says, "Fifty cents." The buyer looks first at him, then back at me, as we outbid ourselves on his behalf. But it's the baby items that I really have a hard time with. I no longer have use for clothing that is sized for a 3-month-old, as my boys are now teenagers, but it's so hard to part with those tiny little sleepers. While my husband isn't looking, I've been known to whisk our inventory of baby things back inside. "Wow, the baby stuff went fast," he said, noting the empty spot on the table in the driveway. "Yep. It sure did," I replied, not lying. It DID go fast. Right back into the house. Same with the fondue pot. I read recently that fondue cooking is making a comeback. I'd hate to have to shell out the money for a new one. My kids find the day as confusing as the shoppers who try to buy from us. After a week of nagging them to clean out their closets, telling them it's a great way to make some spending money, I've been known to say, "You can't sell THAT!" I couldn't imagine selling My Pal II, the robot my son so desperately wanted for Christmas one year. It took me hours of searching toy store after toy store. Like they say, time is money. I didn't want to see someone walk off with it for a measly $1.50. It's worth more to me even if it has been shoved in the back corner of the closet for years. Needless to say, for all the wrong reasons, we tend to close up shop early every year. They say one person's trash is another's treasure. Problem is, we both live in the same house. Years from now, when my husband and I are long gone, our boys will have to clear out the place. By then, the baby stuff will be considered heirlooms and the ninja turtle a sought-after collectible. The fondue pot will be a valuable relic of the '70s and the kind of thing they could put up for auction. By that time, our junk will have really appreciated in value. They'll make a fortune. Maybe instead of a garage sale, they could even call it a "tag sale." Kimberly A. Porrazzo is an author and columnist. She lives in Lake Forest with her husband and two sons. She can be reached at: kimberlyporrazzo@cox.net. |
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