Everything I Know About Life I learned at My Garage Sale

Everything I Know about Life I Learned at my Garage Sale

As I near the end of my sixth decade on this planet, my favourite one I might add, Al Gore has made me more aware of the fact that as a species we have accelerated like a sub-atomic particle from about a population of three billion people when I entered the scene as a young baby boomer to about 7 billion people today.  Should I live to the mean age, for Canadian males of 79.7 years, we should have a population of about 9.3 billion people.  That, in and of itself, is great cause for introspection, but I’m getting ahead of myself as this little piece of writing is actually about garage sales.  I’ll make the connection to Al Gore and global warming later, or not.

The tough part about a garage sale, and there are many tough parts, is dealing with people who have the garage sale mentality and are perfectly capable of walking over hot coals or their mothers to make a deal and then get on to the next garage sale over one block from your own, where they are selling collector plates complete with documents of authenticity, that no one really wants to buy any way.   

Here’s a little bit of background information which should actually follow the introduction. We have to down size our place because of stringent economic conditions currently beyond our control in a world where destiny is in random synchronization with good karma.  In the vernacular we were screwed over by an insurance company and as a result my wife lost her income following a car accident in which she was the victim. 

C was sitting at a traffic light four cars back from the intersection when I guy rounded the corner behind her having just dropped his cell phone and managed to rear end my wife’s car and a rather high speed. The ironic part here is that the cell-phone-crazed-driver was driving a vehicle from Speedy Brake.  As a result of this accident, now over six years ago, the insurance company (refer to appendix for the actual name of this company) has recently requested that we pay back thousands of dollars in past benefits that we did not apparently qualify for, and therefore the garage sale; so here we are on a bright Saturday morning selling off some pretty good stuff to a group of strangers for next to nothing.

We organized the sale the night before.  It took us about four hours to get the items out to the drive way and display them on makeshift tables we made out of the many cardboard boxes that we have for the big move.  Prior to this it took weeks of agonizing over the reality that we have to sell our home that we poured our heart and soul into over the past five years.  Many evenings C and I sat silently in the backyard, surveying our beautiful gardens weeping over a cup of coffee too stunned for speech.

Once we made the decision to sell we rallied and organized and sifted and sorted our stuff until on  this fine morning I stood on my drive way unfolding the tarp which covered our history.  Five cars were parked in front of the house with people just waiting to pounce.  Sadly, I viewed my darkroom equipment sitting prominently at the end of the driveway in two large boxes labeled with a $20 price tag.  This was equipment I had collected since grade 11 at great cost and had used in many different homes and with which I had taught my kids, all four of them, basic darkroom procedures…all of this was going for twenty dollars.  In fact by late morning it sold for $15 to my neighbour who has a son interested in photography.  I was delighted that my stuff had found a good home and grieving as I helped my neighbor carry it over to her yard.

Our neighbour is a dear sweet older lady who understands perfectly why we are moving.  We have two versions of the story, the real one and  a reader friendly, watered down and optimistic one for more general consumption. For some reason I had given my neighbour the concentrated version and yet she bargained me down five dollars on my darkroom equipment. Late in life and on this day I realized I was still learning things about human nature.  It does not matter what your personal economic situation is, people, much better off still want a deal and will walk all over you to get it.  This from a 74 year old neighbour.

It is now time for a quote.  Isak Dinesen, I think he was Danish (1885-1962) wrote:

It is more than their land that you take away

From the people, whose native land you take.

It is their past as well, their roots and their Identity.”

He was actually writing in an historical context about imperialism, but I thought I could equally apply his quote to my garage sale as that is what I’m trying to do here, so work with me. My darkroom equipment was like my land it was part of my personal past and formed a good part of my identity.  As C, my dear wife of 8 years, and I were sitting in the shade of the garage during a lull in the sale I commented to her.  “When I watch some of our things go it’s like a little piece of you is lost forever into a timeless primeval abyss.”  I didn’t actually say the abyss part, but I was thinking it.  I guess the one lady picking over some of our stuff heard my comment and quickly apologized for wanting to buy something.  I made light of it with her and gave her a deal on a box of books for only two dollars.  Mind you one of my favourite books was in that box, one I might have wanted to read again, but I think you are now getting my point about introspection. Read the title again.

It was Confucius (551-479 BCE) who wrote, “ In governing, cleave to good, as the north star holds its place, and the multitude of stars revolve around him.”  I’m not sure if him refers to the North Star or a Chinese Emperor, nor am I sure about how this quote relates to garage sales as they were likely after the time of Confucius.  I do know that I had to cleave to good and navigate some sort of course out of our current mess. Okay, last quote.  I teach history I am not responsible for the quotes. Frederick Douglas, an American human rights leader wrote that, “Without struggle, there can be no progress.”  Between Confucius and Douglas I realized that without crisis there can be no change and that what I was learning about myself and my neighbours during our garage sale was also instrumental in altering our stasis

As one prepares for a garage sale there is the tedious and extensive process of sorting through memorabilia.  This is actually the most joyful, painful and time consuming part of any move.  One must move through this crisis or hurdle in order to move on to the next location where more memories will accumulate, at some point, one takes pause and looks through the photo albums, scrap books, old books and clothing.  Each has a significant or trivial memory, yet each is important.  The difference between the pack rat/hoarder mentality and the live lean and travel light philosophy is the ability to part with the physical evidence of your past.

There is actually a gene in the human genome that causes people to hoard.  I believe it serves as some sort of survival mechanism because if you save everything then possibly at some point you will have the crucial letter, or pennant, or platform shoe with bellbottom pants that will make you the best dressed guest at a retro party your alumni association is having at a university you attended 30 years ago.  I think I have at least part of that gene. 

 I start packing a box and out of the corner of my eye I see a father’s day card from my son P when he was just learning to print and already quite good at drawing.  It says, “to the best Dad ever... I love you.”  Then of course I have to read it again and make sure I don’t tear on it to mess up the water colours on the front of the card.  Then I have to show C who will lovingly cluck at the wonderful piece of art and Paul’s great talent while gently urging me on to pack the damn box the movers will be here soon and get on with it.  I quietly submit until I see this adorable pastel picture that J drew, I think she was in High School.  It was a night scene of an urban landscape and it was perfectly rendered in abstract terms.  At one time it was above my desk in a little apartment that J and I shared after the divorce…C clears her throat and I move on. Already I have a card and a picture in the box.  A frantic pace….