Let the Treasure Hunting Begin

It's garage sale season. Whoo-hoo! I know my excitement over this is incomprehensible so many people, including Andrew. But the thrill of the search--the unknown at the end of each driveway--the sparkle of promise laid out on blankets on front lawns all around town--Perhaps this is how some people feel when they anticipate the beginning of a sports season.

Two weeks ago, I went to my inaugural garage sale and came away with three bulging black garbage bags full of--well, I had no idea, really, because I didn't look inside. I heard the woman say they contained her daughters' Barbie collection, and that she'd give me all of it for $5 total, and that was that. I stuffed them in my trunk and began the excavation on the front porch when I got home. And--it was a bust. I don't often say that; I don't often gamble so unwisely. My mystery purchases are usually rewarding, often amazing. But this time, even I had to admit it was a lot of junk. Much-loved junk, to be sure, but definitely not stuff that could be passed on to new little girls to play with. I threw away about half, separated out the Barbie clothes (those will be okay with a good washing, once the girls are into Barbies), and sequestered the actual Barbies (wild-haired, marker-faced, dirty) to their own plastic bags for possible rehabilitation, craft purposes, or, eventually, the trash as well. The winners of this batch were a few little cat figurines, and three hideous Barbie horses that Greta, especially, loves.

So, I was a little off my game. I gave it another shot today, with a garage sale this morning (two new-in-box Chinese waving cats, $1 each), and a church rummage sale tonight (19 hardback kids books, $9.50). Nothing overwhelmingly great, but a better start. Let the season begin...

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