It’s beginning to look a lot like
Where once stood a child’s dresser are three narrow boxes imitating drawers.
Tables – gone.
Bedside end tables – bye bye.
Overstuffed chair – a fond farewell.
Plants – You’re beautiful and I love you but I can’t take you with me.
The move, aka delivery of Baby Freedom, is in its final stretch. She’s a-crowning.
One box of basic kitchen wares, now where my desk and reading chair once were, is reserved for Annie, to whom I promised first dibs. Otherwise it goes away by another route.
Like a yard sale?
Can you believe that after my weeks of talk about it, it still hasn’t happened?!
I’m still waiting for weekend weather to cooperate! For Mother Nature to offer a scenario in which I’m not sitting on a street corner shivering in a slicker!
If she doesn’t deliver this weekend, that’s it. Yard sales attempts done. Over. Fini. The stuff goes to the rescue mission, where need is great. And/or a thrift store.
Oh, the horror stories! My recent attempts to sell things through it only reiterate a long-known truth about craigslist: It’s a great concept but in practice it can majorily suck..
Yesterday my upstairs neighbor, Jim, who’s also had the pleasure and displeasure of selling items in that Internet’s marketplace, described it thusly: “Craigslist is like running a business and having a bad business partner.”
I like that.
If you’ve never sold items on craigslist, I encourage you to do so once for the experience. It’ll dilute if not eliminate any happy-go-lucky rosy notion that people are basically good and decent and trustworthy and will do as they promise.
I’m not venturing into that briar patch today.
Today is about a woman who might actually come through and purchase for an insanely low price a lovely and warm dining room set. A set, for which I’ve affection and fond memories, that I’ve been trying to unload via craigslist for eight weeks.
The economic doom is nakedly reflected in craiglist. Lots and lots of items for sale. The ads that read “selling my camera because I need the money to feed my children” hurt my heart.
Unemployment’s high here, jobs are scarce and my town/county are in dark descent into disaster. Not a lotta money floating around. Those few furniture pieces of quality I do/did have I’ve had to undervalue for any chance of selling them. Practically give them away
I’m becoming depressed. Switching tracks …
So the yard sale remains a big ?. I’ve got backup plans in my head. One way or another, what isn’t going with me is leaving and entering new homes.
No 11th-hour frenzied shedding of stuff and packing and cleaning for me! I want to have this place locked and ready in Move Mode by this time next week.
And slide into my departure: Independence Day.
Of course. How fitting. America’s official day of freedom. A day of departure pragmatically deduced and divinely guided. Selected with great care and investigation in the realms of the mystic and the spiritual.
For Brandon, that means July 5, morning of.
And there it is.
And there the things to do, so toodles.