This morning, as I started off on my run, I passed several garage sales going down in my neighborhood, all of which had already attracted a quite impressive group of people poking and prodding the goods strewn about on the grass and the driveway in front of them. I love garage sale people, or at least I love that trait concerning garage sale people that allows them to see the value in used goods. It's an interesting notion that the things that one person no longer sees value and want to do away with have intricate value to someone else who is willing to pay for them, but only pay so much. I love the idea of seeking out a bargain. Of finding a pearl in the rough. I love the idea of wondering what memories and history are tied up in the furniture and books and paintings and clothes on sale. I wonder if the people selling those items feel pangs of regret or mountains of joy as they watch them leave their premises forever. I wonder if they're happy to be rid of this stuff cluttering their houses or sad to see them go. I suppose their emotions fall on both sides of the fence.
I bought my first guitar at a garage sale. Well, actually, my mom bought it for me. I loved that guitar, despite the fact that it was beat up and probably not worth the $10 or so she paid for it. But it came with it's own little plastic case, it has six strings, and it was all mine. That guitar put a lot of thoughts of possibilities in my head, and eventually when I learned to play, that guitar was the impetus for a lot of joy for me. I've bought a lot of books at garage sales over the years that poured a lot of knowledge into my brain. I learned a lot of words and traveled a lot of paths and lead a lot of lives in those books, most of which I might have paid maybe a quarter for. I've stored my personal belongings in tables that I picked up at garage sales. Stored my writings in crates. Stared into paintings. Listened to hour after hour of music that floated out of albums and tapes and CDs I lifted from the previous owner. I've bought my kids toys they "just had to have," and I've bought myself a few, as well.
I wish I had the time and ambition to roam from sale to sale more often. I wish I had a family member or friend who shared that passion for seeking out some used treasure on Friday and Saturday mornings, who shared that longing for bringing another collected item into the home that wasn't really needed but was just too good to pass up.
The notion of garage sales is a romantic one to me for some reason. It's American. It's authentic and real and ground in reality. It's people communicating with other people in a personal atmosphere that has nothing to do with long aisles in overly big, stale, stores filled with nothing but newness. It has nothing to do with exchanging money with disinterested sales clerks. It has nothing to do with lining the pockets of some corporation that pushed a local five-and-dime out of business to make its mark. Garage sales are real people doing commerce with real people, maybe haggling a little bit, but both sides appreciating a good deal and a fair exchange. No markups. No coupons needed. No "for a limited time" only scams. Just good business.
I bought my first guitar at a garage sale. Well, actually, my mom bought it for me. I loved that guitar, despite the fact that it was beat up and probably not worth the $10 or so she paid for it. But it came with it's own little plastic case, it has six strings, and it was all mine. That guitar put a lot of thoughts of possibilities in my head, and eventually when I learned to play, that guitar was the impetus for a lot of joy for me. I've bought a lot of books at garage sales over the years that poured a lot of knowledge into my brain. I learned a lot of words and traveled a lot of paths and lead a lot of lives in those books, most of which I might have paid maybe a quarter for. I've stored my personal belongings in tables that I picked up at garage sales. Stored my writings in crates. Stared into paintings. Listened to hour after hour of music that floated out of albums and tapes and CDs I lifted from the previous owner. I've bought my kids toys they "just had to have," and I've bought myself a few, as well.
I wish I had the time and ambition to roam from sale to sale more often. I wish I had a family member or friend who shared that passion for seeking out some used treasure on Friday and Saturday mornings, who shared that longing for bringing another collected item into the home that wasn't really needed but was just too good to pass up.
The notion of garage sales is a romantic one to me for some reason. It's American. It's authentic and real and ground in reality. It's people communicating with other people in a personal atmosphere that has nothing to do with long aisles in overly big, stale, stores filled with nothing but newness. It has nothing to do with exchanging money with disinterested sales clerks. It has nothing to do with lining the pockets of some corporation that pushed a local five-and-dime out of business to make its mark. Garage sales are real people doing commerce with real people, maybe haggling a little bit, but both sides appreciating a good deal and a fair exchange. No markups. No coupons needed. No "for a limited time" only scams. Just good business.
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