Wrinkly Bits
A Blog by Gail Cushman
I’ll Never Tell
Life is all about change and let me tell you that my life is changing faster than you can say lickity split. Fifteen months ago, I had a very serene, predictable life, even boring. I would get up in the morning and spend most of my day releasing my characters from my brain onto a piece of paper, perhaps go to the grocery store or gas station, smile at my roses, attend to this and that, and go to bed. Now my life starts with my getting up in the morning and having no idea what the day will hold, but I can be sure that it will change direction throughout the day, maybe a dozen times, leaving my gas tank unfilled and this and that undone. And my roses are missing me. All in the sense of adventure.
It’s been at least ten years since I went to a garage sale, and a good twenty years since I held one, but nothing has changed. I now remember it is a lot of work and think I’m done for another decade, if I live that long. But, in case you have forgotten about garage sales, I’ll remind you of the joys.
I packed everything that I knew I wouldn’t use in Montana like my bikini, water skis, goggles, water wings, and suntan lotion and sent them to the secondhand stores. No need keeping them around. Then, I got a great big box and filled it with those that I definitely will need, including extra coats, earmuffs, stocking caps, window scrapers, mittens, snow shovels, and snowshoes marked it: Baby, It’s Cold Outside. Montana at its best, and it was a rather full box. I found a good bell that I could use to summon Cowboy Bob when I needed something and tossed it in for good measure. What next, I wondered and began moving from closet to closet, tossing things in three piles. Keep, don’t keep, and where in the world did this come from, which grew into the largest pile and ended up being my garage sale. It was close to size of Abraham Lincoln’s face on Mt. Rushmore and just as daunting. My shoulder is still healing, making it necessary to hire someone to help me sort and tag things, which also meant I had to explain how I acquired eighty-five baseball caps (many still tagged), two hundred spools of thread, seventeen pairs of gloves, as well as thirty-five coin-purses, all slightly used but have a lot of life left in them.
Finally, the opening bell rang, and people began showing up. Now that part of a garage sale has not changed. They are exactly the same people who came to my last garage sale, I swear. They haven’t aged a bit and want the same thing, a bag of tools and a new table saw for twenty-five cents, better yet free, but are quick to reject it if instruction book is wrinkled. They like to talk and relate why they need those thirty-five coin-purses and a saw without a handle and a tool called a reacher, that wouldn’t reach anything.
The cool thing about my garage sale was the people I met, new and veteran Boiseans. People who made me laugh. People who wanted some item I had long ago forgotten told a story about a child or a grandchild who was having hard luck and needed a little hand up. It was two joyous days of people watching and I came away feeling good.
It was a relief to be finished with nearly everything was gone until my daughter said, “Mom, we forgot the attic.” I was finished but the attic was full and now I have a few more items. Do I move them to Montana, put them back in the attic, or deposit them on my neighbors’ doorsteps at midnight? I’ll never tell.
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