One Man’s Trash . . .

You know what they say . . . “one man’s trash is another man’s treasure”.

Well, I learned the deeper meaning of this phrase this weekend, when we hauled most of the material contents of our house out to the curb for the neighborhood garage sale.

This happens to come at a great time for us, as we are in the process of moving houses, but I have to say: the whole experience was rather taxing.

What wore me out was hauling boxes, running up and down the stairs over and over and over again, and braving the heat of a DC summer, it’s true. I sat (for days, really) with a black marker and pages and pages of stickers, pulling prices out of thin air (just how much will someone pay for a hideous floral painting that’s been sitting in the basement for four years?). It was all very upsetting.

But it wasn’t just the hauling and the pricing . . . throughout this whole experience I found myself struggling with something akin to a moral dilemma: was I offending garage sale attendees by placing a light up, glow-in-the-dark Santa Claus out on the table? Would people roll their eyes in derision when they saw the plastic serving trays leftover from the bridal shower last month? And what about that hideous old 1980s boom box?

This really bothered me.

I am not under the impression that my front yard is some upscale boutique, mind you, but I admit I did feel some strange obligatory feeling that I should be offering quality merchandise to those who got out of bed so early on Saturday morning to come to my garage sale.

(I’ve already learned that pastors are pleasers. But does this malady have to extend all the way to . . . garage sales? COME ON!)

So strong was this feeling that it was only sheer desperation, I tell you, that pushed me to throw all caution to the wind and put all the junk I could dig out from anywhere in the house right out front along with all the great books, furniture and housewares I just knew folks would snap up immediately.

Early Saturday morning, about 6 a.m., you could have found me setting up tables, hauling out boxes, organizing displays (all the while yelling at family members to get out of bed and help!). We all got out there eventually and the kids, especially, took enthusiastically to organizing their table (I do here admit that bribes were involved).

And then they came.

Garage sale veterans started pulling up to the curb shortly after 7 a.m. in their flatbed trucks and big, empty vans.

Imagine my surprise (and, honestly, offense) when almost every one of them sauntered through my beautiful displays . . . then went on to the neighbors’.

I was losing heart when suddenly hoards of regular garage sale shoppers (mostly my neighbors) began to descend. Now, I thought, all the great stuff would go.

Nope.

People walked right by the great china I had for sale, turned their noses up at crystal bowls never opened (vestiges of the wedding 16 years ago), and completely ignored the two London Fog coats I had artfully displayed.

No, I believe one of the first items to go was one of the plastic serving trays from the bridal shower (25¢─cha-ching!), shortly followed by (you guessed it) the floral paintings. The light-up, glow-in-the-dark Santa, along with two other Santa figurines were next (the date was June 2, mind you), and the pile of assorted bread baskets . . . well, that walked in the first half hour. The 80s boom box as also a hot seller—gone before we could blink.

Go figure.

I kept turning to Mark and my friend Caroline (who helped me tremendously in this adventure and also had some choice items for sale—case in point a Ziploc baggie filled with assorted cabinet hardware, none of which matched. SOLD: 50¢), exclaiming in surprise over what people were buying.

I just could not believe how quickly folks paid money to haul away my trash.

At the end of the day it was almost all gone. All of it, that is, except . . . the china, the crystal bowls and the coats, of course.

People carried away boxes of old books and used table cloths, wax-encrusted candle holders and board games with missing pieces.

And they seemed to do so with delight (with the notable exception of the boom box purchaser, who came back later in the day to return a tape that had been left in the tape player. As it was a Calvary service tape, I was rudely accused of proselytizing by garage sale. I kindly informed the customer that, if I were him, I wouldn’t return the tape. Who knows? This might be akin to buying an old painting and finding the original Constitution of Independence concealed underneath?).

After it was all over Mark and I were debriefing and exclaiming in amazement again over what people bought. Mark said he thought the theme of our garage sale could be: “Money for Nothing” but, having hauled all that stuff out to the front yard, I know full well it was far from nothing.

Instead, I’ll stick with “One man’s trash is another man’s treasure”.

Or, rather: “One man’s trash is . . . now another man’s trash!”

(Anybody need a dining room table or some fine china?)