Having a huge moving sale on a warm summer day is not for the wimpy.
But we survived.
Today is Day Two of our play-like-you're-American-Pickers moving sale. Day One was wild, what with hundreds of people coming in a steady stream (ten or so even returning again!), hundreds of very friendly Western New Yorkers, as most are. Our friend, Donna, helped Tom and me to sell tons of stuff, though we still have tons left out on our back lawn, driveway and barn.
For nine hours yesterday I worked (so not used to that) outside or escaped to the shade, though at 12:30 I drove down to our favorite mom and pop take-out where the gal behind the counter told me, "Don't forget to take your pop from the refrigerator, or wait!--you always get the bottled water, right?"
I laughed and told her, "Yes! Very good!," then walked out to the car a bit teary-eyed because oh, though I won't miss our farm, I will miss this sweet tiny town where people know us by name as well as all our habits, too. Always, even when our farm didn't feel altogether-delightful, our small town did.
Tom and I will need to frequent the same shops in our new community though it's much larger, and perhaps the shop clerks and cafe staffs will know us that way. I will refuse to make comparisons and instead, sow some good seeds and see what comes up.
So I just thought I'd check in before I dash back outside for more selling and greeting neighbors and seeing our stuff fly out of here at record speed in a sort of wild succession. Toward the end I think I'll contact our local Freecycle and tell everyone to come and take what they want until 6:00 or so.
Is it bothering me to let all this stuff go? Not even. This past week I kept thinking that maybe the winners in Life are those who own the least amount of stuff when they die, not the most. That sounds better to me and lately it's been feeling better, as well.
I wish each of you could come to our sale! :)