yard sale

May 29, 2018

Our street participated in a yard sale on the weekend, and much of the neighbourhood was out for it. We rustled together three tables of bric-a-brac in about twenty minutes; I dread to think how much more we could have piled on had we dug a little deeper. It’s strange to look upon things, once so loved and enjoyed, strew on the curb like junk. A wooden bowl in the shape of pineapple, a Rosenthal creamer, ramekins, toys, a bentwood chair and ten plates I spent my childhood eating off. We sold a gilded table that belonged to Jason’s grandmother to a neighbour who probably loved it as much as she did. He even bought the matching plant stand. That was a nice sale. My bodum teapot, that I’ve steeped tea in so many times, went to a local restaurateur, and a bag of my favourite wooden toys went to a new Mum and her 6-month old baby, Charlie. No one wanted my Mum’s Solimene plates, which on second thought, was a very lucky thing. One man’s trash really is another man’s treasure.


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