It was a Saturday just like any other.
I got up early. Left the warm house and headed out the door into the cold (32 degrees!) morning.
Nothing too unusual as this is my typical yard sale routine this time of year … with one tiny exception.
This past Saturday’s yard sale was in my yard.
That’s right. The days have been numbered for the ‘What was I thinking?’ pile and The Garage Where Cars Can’t Park.
Fresh as a daisy.
So I set up my old junk out there on the driveway for a couple of hours because that's as long as I can stand it, then made a trip to the local senior center thrift shop to donate the unsellables (ouch --- so many unsellables!) and was ultimately rewarded with some room to move in the garage.
I was not rewarded with a big pile of cash unless you count the snack-size ziploc bag filled with quarters.
Praying for it to stop
Combine that room-to-move with yet another sunny day here in Oregon and suddenly it’s Bathtime for Blow Molds, in preparation for their upcoming trek to the vintage Promised Land (my antique mall space).
Look who's crashing the nativity
Will this weirdness never end? I suspect my neighbors would like an answer to that as well.
(The outcome: I made a whopping $47! I am not a fan of having yard sales! Someone even tried to pay for a 25¢ item with a fifty dollar bill! You cannot make this stuff up! Never again!)