I worked so hard all last week in preparation of my first moving sale at my apartment. I never make things easy on myself either. I hate going to sales where people have thrown things in boxes that you have to rummage through, or sales where they've laid out their "treasures" covered in grime, cobwebs and, oftentimes, in pieces. Therefore, I spent hours making sure everything was clean and in good condition, and also took the time to group things on various borrowed card tables.
My Christmas corner was exceptional. It took an entire day to set up my table tree & decorate it, then surround it with all the other holiday items I'd unpacked. Another table showcased all the antique and collectible items handed down from my parents. I checked on the price of one Red Wing vase at the library...was actually surprised when I found a picture of the exact vase in the Red Wing book...and found it to be worth $60!
The day prior to the sale was spent putting sale tags on everything and little SOLD signs on things already purchased by co-workers. I never finished until 11 PM that night, and fell into bed so exhausted that I set my alarm in case I slept so sound as to not get up at the break of dawn.
Before I was able to rest my weary self, I checked the local paper for my ad. Uh oh...not there! Panicked, I called my friend to ask if she would put a hasty ad on Craig's List, online. I don't have Internet access at my home anymore, and my friend had posted on Craig's List in the past so I knew she could do it efficiently. I was concerned that my moving sale was not going to bring many buyers, but fatigue trumped the concern in the end.
I awoke, refreshed, and got down to business...double-checked everything for price tags, readied the cash box, propped the outer door to the apartments open and put signs up where necessary. I didn't have to wait long for my first customer...someone who had seen the Craig's List posting. ' She bought one of the ashtrays my father had comissioned from an artillery shell at the end of WWII. Surprisingly it did not bring on a wave of nostalgia or regret. Perhaps because I had already "made peace" with my father's spirit over this issue.
Later in the day, however, when a friend and co-worker came to pick up the antique deacon's bench she had bought, my voice caught as I thanked her and said goodbye. I was happy that it was going to a friend. I had moved the bench from Massachusetts to Colorado in a small camper when my mother sold her house. It was a labor of love. Many times, as a child, I had pulled tablecloths, hand-crocheted by my maternal grandmother, from the storage seat in the deacon's bench to play dress-up. That one piece of furniture had played a huge part in shaping the child I was and the adult I became. A moment of sadness.
Only five people graced my sale yesterday, and still I made over $200. Tomorrow I will call Madison Newspapers and scold them, then run the ad...again?...for next weekend. Since I've already done all the work, I'll have the sale on Thurs. and Fri. as well as Sat. I can live in a "furniture showroom" for another week or so, I guess.
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