Wednesday, August 31, 2011

trash to treasure to trash

One man’s trash is another man’s treasure. That is why garage sales, yard sales, and rummage sales are so popular. When we decide to clear the clutter from our overstuffed homes what better way than to offer that trash,er, treasure for sale to anyone seeking a bargain.

Even though we no longer feel a need for those once indispensable gimcracks and gadgets, someone else just might. That is our hope when we apply a value to those objects and place them on the driveway for passersby to notice and instantly covet. If we guess right about the value of that old can opener or set of jelly glasses we will make a sale and the buyer will leave thinking what a great deal she just got. The fact that that can opener and those jelly glasses will become objects for sale at her own rummage sale next year never enters the equation.

But what happens to those things that for some odd reason nobody seems to want at any price? There is nothing as forlorn as leftovers from a rummage sale. Those pathetic little unwanted bits and pieces of our history suddenly become valueless, destined for the trash bin. A couple hours earlier they were proudly on display with price tags that only hinted at their real value. Now they are deemed detritus headed for the landfill, stripped of any value, odd little curiosities of accumulation.

I had such a rummage sale this past weekend. I made $41.50 selling bits and pieces of junk that I had no more use for. I did my best to con people into thinking that they needed that stuff even though I clearly didn’t. Some of the stuff that I thought people would be fighting over barely rated a cursory glance from the bargain hunters on the prowl. Other things that I included in the mix of doodads and kitsch that I considered space fillers were snapped up like golden nuggets in a prospector’s pan.

What do we do with all those things that nobody wants at any price. Do we try to give the stuff away, donate it to some charitable organization? It seems somehow dishonest to dump those leftovers that no one will buy onto someone else so that the disposal problem becomes theirs. All I know is that I want those once valued treasures now turned to junk out of my life.
It’s nice to free up the space that was once filled with all that unwanted clutter.

Now I will have room for all those treasures that I will find at the rummage sale down the street.

Monday, August 15, 2011

normal

She’s home. Finally. Life is back to normal now that Mary is back to normal after her month in California spoiling our new grandson. She has been home for two whole days. And I’m already offering to send her back.

She is smothering me. She is monitoring my every move. She is supervising everything I do. And she is telling me what to do just in case I’m incapable of deciding for myself what I need to do. She scolds me for working too hard cutting the grass and trimming the bushes. She reminds me to take a nap so that I don’t get too worn out. She is constantly reminding me to take my meds. She’s even monitoring my email so that I won’t miss any important messages. You know, normal.

I know I said I missed her while she was gone. But I my brain must have been filtering all that stuff. Yes, I love her dearly, but I’m checking airfares.

Monday, August 08, 2011

taking care of baby

Well, my month of pseudo-bachelorhood is nearly over. Just a few days left before Mary comes home from California, leaving her grandma duties and baby Ezra behind. None too soon I have to say.

I guess I am just not cut out for the bachelor lifestyle. I have always been something of a loner—I am not a joiner—so you would think that being alone for a month would be right up my alley. I am perfectly comfortable keeping my own company. But there is a difference between being alone and being lonely. I can stand being alone, even like it most of the time, but being lonely caught me by surprise.

It’s one thing to enjoy doing things I like to do and doing them alone. But I have always had the safety net of knowing that she is in the other room, or about to come home from shopping, or sitting out on the deck reading. And so despite doing my own thing alone, I am not lonely because she is around. I miss her being around. I miss her taking care of stuff. I miss her taking care of me.

So she will just have to adjust from taking care of little baby Ezra to taking care of big baby Bob once again. I admit it—I’m a big baby. And I want her back.