The Southern California institution known as the yard sale, or my husband likes to call it, shit on a lawn, is a full-time pastime/hobby/obsession for some people. Today I had one of my own. It wasn't real successful, but I was able to purge some of our crap and move it out. Whatever didn't sell I donated, and I am thrilled to have room in my shed to store the crap I actually want to keep. 17 years ago when I was moving in with Mark I had a yard sale at my apartment on Euclid. A Russian man haggled with me over a frying pan that I was charging $5 for. He felt that was just offensive and preposterous. He kept handing me a dollar bill, picking up the pan and saying, "I give you one dollar. I take pan." I told him no, it's five dollars. He said, I give you dollar, then he would pick up the pan and I would take it back again. It would have been a good Seinfeld episode. We really got into it and I finally told him to get out of my yard, he told me I was crazy.
Nothing that dramatic happened today. I sold a pair of water shoes for 50 cents. Nnogo came by to sell some of her stuff and watch the wares while I ran over to watch Beckett's bssketball game. I gave away to Nnogo the wine opener that Anya gave to me at her yard sale when she was moving to New York. It was a day of selling, trading, giving away, schmoozing with neighbors I know, and meeting some cool neighbors I didn't know. It almost makes you want to have another yard sale. Maybe in seventeen years...
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