Column: Here we go again

I said I wouldn’t do it. Said it a hundred times. But here I am again, surrounded by books, seasonal decor, an old VCR and who knows what else, ready to go to a local yard sale. It’s a one-day, supposedly half-day at that, fundraiser. This stuff will not come home with me. I don’t care where it goes — it’s out of here. The second-best part of the endeavor is it’s not in my yard or garage or anywhere near me.

The books. They’ve been collecting dust for so many years that my vision issues now prevent me from reading them. None are in large print or I’d hang onto them a while longer. Oddly enough, my grandson is interested in any classics I may have. And son of a gun, I did. How about a little Ralph Waldo Emerson, Nathaniel Hawthorne, Dickens, Shakespeare and Walt Whitman, my boy? Save me from hauling them to the yard sale.

Seasonal decor. We — I, actually — primarily decorate the house for winter and summer, with a dash of Christmas in December. We don’t have much need for excessive pumpkin things; one or two and a fall wreath at the front door are sufficient. I can get rid of the rest. I’ll throw in a handful of miniature birdhouses that have been taking up space.

Electronics. Might as well dispose of the old VCR. I should just bypass the yard sale and go directly to the dump with it. But Ol’ Bill, who couldn’t play a videotape in it if he had one, will argue with me that it’s “perfectly good — it still worked the last time we used it.” Yeah? Just when was that? 1987? I don’t know when VCRs were in their prime. I just know it’s been collecting cobwebs for way too long and needs to go. Along with …

Trophies. Who the heck wants old trophies? He has trophies from way back when he used to compete in some kind of coon dog events. He hasn’t had a dog of any sort for more than 30 years, let alone one that could earn a trophy.

And of course, the garage shelves full of trophies he brought home nearly every time he went to a car show. I’m doubtful we can even sell them at a yard sale. I’ll take a small selection just to add some sparkle to the table.

I still have a couple more days. I wonder what other treasures I might come up with. A slightly coffee-stained tablecloth? A pencil sharpener — the kind you mount to a wall and grind your pencil to a stub? How about that “garden weasel” that looked so easy to use when they demonstrated it in an infomercial years ago? While we’re in the garage, how about a length of garden hose with no attachments of any sort at either end? Just a rubber hose. A wiffle ball and plastic bat? Sorry, no Jarts.

Just thinking about this is giving me a headache and starting to stress me out. I can’t even imagine getting ready for a whole-house auction or estate sale. I’m just getting rid of what will fit in my car and making only one trip to the sale location.

It’s no wonder my California girlfriend is having second thoughts about moving all the stuff she took west with her 20-some years ago when she left the East Coast. The very thought of sorting and packing is overwhelming.

This little carload of mine is bad enough.