A Dissection of Yardsailing

Can it possibly be time to blog again?? My, oh, my.

Once upon a very long time ago, I took up the occupation of yardsailing (I tried for "saling" or "saleing" or even "sale-ing", but nothing clicked). I took up this worthy occupation because DTD was a little toddler and she needed things. Or rather her mommy was having too much fun fantasizing Darling Toddler Daughter needed all these precious darling things, like Fisher-Price Little People and 1950's books that showcased the Dick and Jane style artwork that made women want to be a mommy in the first place. I like sweet and innocent, gentle and inviting. None of the harsh, edgy, sterile stuff you might see today. Although not all is a total loss in these, our modern times. The children's book Lily's Purple Plastic Purse is a prime example that the world has yet a remnant of charm. Emphasis on remnant.

Well, so I set the alarm clock and hit the road. If the early bird ever gets the worm, then he'd better show up in yards at 7:00 AM for sales advertised to begin at 8:00. It's grievous, really, but it is the modus operandi amongst professional yardsalees. It's sorta like trying to drive the speed limit on the Interstate. You keep up with the going speed, approximately 25 MPH over the speed limit, or you get honked off the asphalt, mowed down or, most hateful of all, rude gestures meant to incinerate upon visual contact. It doesn't work so well to abide by the law on the road, or so it seems. With yardsales, you show up politely on time and you may as well not show up at all because all the good stuff is LONG gone. Really, I need to brush up on ethics. We try to follow the rules, but the mass of careless humanity tends to sweep us up into the tailwind of "You are SO left in the dust." So despite our staunchest efforts to stay the civilized course, we find ourselves going 90 and helping frantic strangers set their junk on the lawn.

I had fun on my treasure hunts for the six or so weeks they lasted. I found cute toddler clothes and books and . . . Fisher-Price Little People, zillions of them. In fact, in Burlington, NC, there seems to have been an epidemic of Little People and accessories, like all the village shops, the fire house, the church and school, the trucks and cars and wagons, you name it. Oh, for pity's sake, DTD'S bedroom floor was virtually overtaken by this Fisher-Price City, building after building lined up orderly along the four walls, population booming with cute smiling characters. It was breezily out of control by Yard Sale Three. But that didn't stop me from going out Saturday Morning Number Four to scoop up more F-PLP jazz. It was addictive -- until I understood that it was also hopeless, the idea of owning one of every sort of Little Person ever to hit the free market. And did I really want to become an avid F-PLP collector anyway, especially when DTD never touched the stuff? She had absolutely zero use for it. Good golly, all these loads of stuff must have intimidated her. Maybe she imagined the Little People coming to life at night and crawling up on her bed and "getting" her, like an army of roaches. Yikes, I'm scaring myself. DTD was actually the poor Little Person, to have tolerated all this hooey. Really, common sense limits have to kick in at some point. So I gave up the hunt. But obviously I was not the only FP-infatuated person, all of America seemed to be, judging by the concentration of Little People inventory at these Burlington yard sales.

Sailing about I would run into my good friend, as she made frugality an art. As our daughters were the same age, I didn't want to get competitive about our finds, though. And rising early was NOT going to last, which of course it didn't, Lil'P notwithstanding. So not only did I quit the LP quest, but I ceased and desisted from yard sailing altogether.

BUT. But, but, BUT before thrift (and nonsense) and I parted ways, on two separate and distinct Saturday mornings, at two separate and distinct yard sales, I found REAL TREASURES. And here, FINALLY, is the punchline to the stale old promise I made weeks ago, when I said there really WAS a point to telling you about the books Sally Goes Shopping Alone and The Little Rabbit that would not Eat. Just imagine, if you will, my eyes bugging out of my head, neck veins popping, heart racing and hyperventilation when, upon rummaging through someone's box of old musty books I beheld none other than SALLY GOES SHOPPING ALONE. Issued 1940 and in almost mint condition. WOW!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! This can't be happening!, I gleed and gloated. The book's owner was probably only too glad to collect my quarter and watch me rapturously float over her yard, leaving a trail of mouth foam, Sally book clutched to my breast. Whew, that nutcase is off the property, thought she. I do tend to go overboard in my enthusiasm. But, don't you just KNOW how I felt?? Here was one of my favorite childhood books, if not THE favorite, reserved just for me. UNREAL! Couldn't wait to read it to DTD. But she has her own mind. She didn't spring for the F-PLP. She never liked the book Good Night, Moon (which made me think maybe the hospital mixed up the babies). And, as I recall, she didn't form an instant bond with Sally and Sally's vivid account of her grown-up shopping spree. But then, down the road, DTD went through periods of not liking some All-American things such as French fries and hot dogs. So, I figured I got a Swiss-born baby or something. Just kidding, she's mine, all mine.

Well then, as if Sally Alone was not enough, I next stumbled upon The Little Rabbit that would not Eat. This was a new and revised edition, 1942, original edition copyrighted 1925. The pages of this copy were loosened from the front cover and the back was missing. But so what, the pages were still sewn together, more or less. And it was a little moldy, too. I've concluded DUST = MUST. You know how we leave things laying around, like books. Then dust lays all over the book and along the edges and then we open the book and the dust falls in. We don't care or even know because who sees this kind of dust, really? So then the book is closed and the dust is pressed inside, sealed tight. Maybe then the book gets shelved, undisturbed for years. Next time you pull it down and open it, PRESTO!, you now have MUST!, as in mold and mildew. It's premium-aged DUST! Honestly, I am enjoying this tonight.

So, I was thrilled to find a second treasure. I thought that was very sweet of God. I believe I checked my emotions with the Rabbit book, turning up old childhood favorites was getting to be old hat by now, ha! Save embarrassing jigs and facial contortions for the latter years, when Darling Toddler Daughter winks into Darling Teenage Daughter. Oh, wait a second, here's something I just noticed. Inside the cover of Sally is written, To Susie from Alice, 12/25/41. And also, To Bryan from Grandma Lou, 10/10/87. The book became mine in 1993, I'm at least the third owner. The Rabbit book is inscribed, in what appears to be very old ink, THIS BOOK BELONGS TO Susan from Christine. Very intersting, two Sues and all. I LOVE dreaming what little hands may have held these books, what little hearts loved them as I did.

Well, I'll wrap it up by expanding your knowledge of NIP, the naughty bunny who wouldn't eat. When his parents went on summer holiday, he and his siblings, FLIP and SKIP, visited their Grandma. When NIP turned up his nose at vigor-giving carrots, his Grandma indulged him, because he was the youngest. She let him have cocoa in acorn cups and dessert in place of nutrititious meals, which were an abomination to little NIP. NIP became littler and sick and weak. He couldn't even tag the squirrels or rabbits and had to be IT over and over again. His appetite was reduced so that even the thought of Hickory Nut Cake and Walnut Ice Cream made him nauseous. Grandma took pale little limp little NIP to Doc Owl who said, Young fellow, if you don't change your ways, you may wind up in BUNNY HEAVEN! Well, NIP did change his ways since Grandma reckoned forcing him to down his vegetables was preferable to tearfully informing his parents, He's gone on to Bunny Heaven. If NIP had gone to Bunny Heaven I rather think Grandma would have joined him shortly thereafter and the whole scene would have been very bad. But the artist just SO perfectly captured little NIP'S health decline, a sadder more wan little face you never did see. In one picture there is a platter bowl of carrot, lettuce and pea pods on the ground. NIP has his back to it but his head is turned ever so slightly toward the dish and he's eyeballing it with a stink eye, as CDW would say. The only green thing to ever touch NIP was his jacket. Well, that all changed in the end, thank the dear Lord. Happy endings are THE ONLY WAY to go, wouldn't you say?

Guess what? I'm going to a yard sale on Saturday. Remember St. Petersburg's Best Kept Secret? Yeah, that neighborhood's having a yard sale. I told you. Like I'm going to miss that. Don't you just know I'm going to find the book where they hang slices of apple pie for Christmas tree ornaments?? Sale starts at 8:00. Be there at 7:00 or be square.

NIPpy SAILING SALLY KEM