ONE LAST DAY

Yard sales are a regular business for some folks. They gather  stuff  DELIBERATELY and do this!!  It takes fortitude. One nice thing, I met neighbors I haven’t visited  in a long time. Several stopped in for a bit of chit-chat.
The other bright spot is watching my partner, Jimmy the Huckster. If it wasn’t for his salesmanship, half of what we did sell would still be  in the yard.  He has a great philosophy,” If you put it in the sale, you want it gone, unless you like hauling all this stuff back where you got it from.”  Kind of puts a thing in perspective. I’ve had an old rear truck bumper someone left at my house in the garden like an ornament around the plants. Jim hauled that out, we cleaned it off, and several people were interested. It will sell today, I’m sure. If someone even looked interested, he would give a spiel and knock the price down. Help them load it and send them on their way.

Jimmy the parking lot attendant ran out and showed people venturing up my long driveway  where and how to park so no one got jammed up in the yard.

Then, Jimmy the good Samaritan,  helped one woman test her power steering fluid, and helped another with her gas additive. He looked up items on the internet previous to the sale for an idea of what various items were worth.

We had  a steady stream of customers all day. Even so,  people are not parting with their dollars easily. One guy let his dog run around for a while. He said, “Don’t worry, he won’t get lost. We feed him. I call him glue.  Here, Glue! Here, Glue!”
We started this sale with Neighbor Jan across the road and one customer said to me:  “You have one hour to bring that lady across the road a cocktail!”  When I had a break I managed to bounce over with a bloody Mary, and a stick of celery in exchange for a hug and some laughter. One of her customers asked:  “Where’s the  bar!”
Today, it will end. Hospice will pick up what we didn’t sell. The wallet a bit fatter and the good feeling of ridding myself of un-needed items someone else can use. Ahh!   All in a day’s yard sale!   (But, never again!)

NEIGHBORS LIKE MINE

My neighborhood has the best people. A friend from Sonora once plaintively told me, "I want to live in YOUR neighborhood." Another long time friend sold his lovely house within walking distance of the school where he taught and moved to another "friendlier" neighborhood. The quality of the neighbors can make the difference.

Ron Hayes is one of those kind of guys who will lend a hand whenever asked. I've asked him to drill holes in the bottoms of pots, clean my chimney and grade my driveway. He always offers help when he sees me struggle with anything.  One time I asked him to accompany me when I showed a rental quite late at night to a strange guy and I was feeling unsure about this guy. He never hesitates to say yes. He's a champ in my book. I offered to marry him, but, he reminded me he is already married.

Jan and Karen, are always there for me. Karen literally covers my place, my mail, my yard, my cat, when I'm on the road. I couldn't do it without her. Plus she is a good cook and is forever fixing me dinner when I'm rushed or offering to do errands for me when I'm busy.
Jan is an artist and neighborhood icon. She knows everyone, visits everyone, fields her grand kids through their problems and runs a book club, drum circle and other volunteer endeavors. We call her the "Heart of Gold."  Her hobby is panning for gold. She'll do anything within her power for you.  

Suzy Hayes is the same way. Generous, helpful. We discovered Suzy had recently celebrated her 60th birthday so we put candles on the cake and thanked our lucky stars for our entertainment. Suzy is 3/4 ers comedienne. She and Ron kept us in stitches all evening. If laughter is healing, we are all healed.

Yes, neighbors really can make a difference in the quality of your life.

HIDING UNMENTIONABLES

I remember telling a Michigan cousin of mine that in California, when you hang your clothing on the line, by the time you get to the end of the line, the first items you hung are dry. She didn't believe me. It was eighty-eight degrees at 7:30 in the morning, yesterday. It was that kind of day.
Unloading the motorhome meant it was time to wash everything, blankets, towels, sheets, all the heavy stuff along with the regular laundry. It seemed a sacrilege to add more heat to the atmosphere when I still have my "solar dryer".
In Portugal, women, whether they have automatic dryers or not, love to hang their wash on the line. You might say that folks today are missing something without the old clothesline in the back yard. Heck, a lot of people don't even have back yards.
As a kid in Michigan, my mom hung out the clothes while talking to the neighbor over the fence, catching up on the neighborhood gossip.
I would hand her items to hang and soon learned that towels go with towels. If hard pressed for space, they could double with the sheets, where the fabric dipped in the middle. She taught me that unmentionables are hung on the middle line where no one from the alley could see them.
In winter, clothing froze into boards and had to be removed and laid over indoor dowel dryers to finish the process.
The laundry kind of typified who you were in the world. Fancy slips or plain? A flowery blouse or go-to-church white? Overalls and work shirts? Or white shirts and slacks?
Then, it was sprinkling and ironing all those shirts and blouses.
My mother's old wringer washer did duty until 1954 when she got a Spindryer. What a marvelous invention. It washed much like any electrified agitating washer, but then the clothing was transferred to a second, smaller tub that spun the water out with centrifugal force. Then, it was a quick-dry on the line and fold and iron time.
We had migrated to California by then and the old formality of days gone by made the job easier. No white shirts for my brothers. T-shirts instead. Then polyester came into vogue and ironing was nearly eliminated. And, an automatic dryer almost eliminated the clothes line.
My job was folding mountains of clothes while listening to the radio.
I don't miss it one bit.
Even so, the satisfying smell of freshly laundered sheets, taken down from the line, folded neatly into a square brings back a lot of crazy memories of backyard washday.