This morning at 4am I was rifling through the next to last boxes… more Southeast Asia and other women, more tangles and nails and things to keep and things to throw away. The rest of the day, except for a pleasurable breakfast with an old friend, has been about the yard sale this weekend. Everyone is calling to tell me it is supposed to rain on Saturday and maybe I should cancel! Help is picking up… Lee is doing the signs and spent some time sorting, Chuck picked up a load for the dump, Tina shared some ideas, Bill did sorting, Emily said she’d do another dump run tomorrow.
Selkie said in dog-speak that I am trying to get rid of her “dad’s” odor and she doesn’t like it. She is girlcotting her dog food. I’m not walking and tossing her ball enough.
My feet hurt, the house is cold and I’m about to go to bed with a numb brain and winter on the way. I look at that portabote and feel some despair… Michael never got to perfect the sail. I’ll never sell the thing nor the trolling motor for near what they cost… neither will I be able to sell the inflatable kayak with winter coming on. Neither boat would be very fun for one person.
Here are some photos of the yard sale… I’m embarrassed by all the toxics… so ironic. Michael would have lectured me about the dangers of the candles I’ve kept burning since he died but he had no problem with gallons of highly flammable stuff in cans out in the old wooden shed. We shared a loved space together but were miles apart in our “culture” of thing-ness. It will feel really liberating to pare down what is here and even the order that (sainted) Tony has imposed has really helped me feel less at the effect of chaos.