The Garage Sale: Part l

Now the weather is warming up, as you drive around, you see small rectangular signs sprouting up in the grass alongside the roadway. They’ve lain dormant all winter, but the arrival of spring brings them out, and they’ll flourish in steady number right through until autumn becomes winter. The size, colour and composition of the signs vary, but the species can be recognized by one common factor: they all have the word ‘SALE’ clearly visible. It’s garage sale season again.

It is said that Britain is a nation of shop-keepers (I never understood why), but truly America is a nation that loves to buy and sell. I suppose the nearest equivalent to the garage sale in Britain would be the car boot sale, and that’s the perfect illustration of how much less comfortable British people are with the boundaries of their homes being crossed. An Englishman’s home is indeed his castle (so we’re a nation of shop-keepers in castles?), and if we want to sell our stuff, we take it to a disused airfield or similar large open space, and put it on display on tables. Sitting in our fold-away chairs alongside lots of other people doing the same thing, we enjoy anonymity and safety in numbers. Not so the Americans. They’re quite happy to sit on their own front driveway, with strangers picking over their goods and chattels, or in their garage if the weather is bad, or even to hold the sale inside their house.

There are three levels of domestic sale (as far as I’ve been able to work out). The first is the yard sale, which really might be just a table of goods, with a hopeful child sitting behind it, aspiring to make a few cents from their cast-off toys and their mother’s unloved crockery. Then there’s the garage sale, which is the same sort of idea, but on a bigger scale. There will be a few tables of bits and pieces, and probably some pieces of furniture and larger items. Of course what has happened is that nobody wants to say they’re having a yard sale, at least not on the sign, because it sounds less worth a visit than a garage sale, so now everything in these two categories is a garage sale. (It’s the same principle behind retailers only ever selling food or drink in the sizes regular, large, or absolutely blooming enormous, because who wants to buy a small?) The original distinction has been lost, though people do still talk of ‘yard sales’.

Then, further up the sale scale, there’s the estate sale. The estate sale happens when a house is being emptied out, after a death, or a downsizing, perhaps. If you see a sign to an estate sale, you’re talking big items: furniture, electrical goods, household items, and so forth, with probably a large amount of smaller stuff in there as well. An estate sale will always involve going inside the house, so it’s a good opportunity for snooping neighbours as well as bargain hunters.

You never know what you’re going to see at a garage sale. It really is the case that people put out everything and anything. Typically there are clothes, crockery, glass-ware, vases, toys, games, Christmas or Hallowe’en decorations, chairs, tables, lamps, suitcases, rugs, books, garden tools. You name it. At one estate sale, I saw an old printing press for sale, and a pair of leather lederhosen. The range of the quality is as varied as the range of the items themselves. Some of the stuff is brand new, in unopened packaging. Some of it is chipped or bent or dirty, and frankly you can’t imagine why anyone would want it for free, let alone pay money for it. I’m not exaggerating when I say that at one sale (the printing press and lederhosen one, actually), the bathroom cupboard was open, and there were half-used packets of cotton buds for sale, and pots of face cream (I’m assuming unused, though they weren’t sealed – I didn’t investigate too closely).

This being America, if there is buying and selling going on, there is room for a middleman. So there are small local businesses who will run your estate sale for you, and these build up certain reputations. Round here, if you see the pink sign for an 'Estate Sale by Helen', I’m told it means that you can rely on the items there being high-end and good quality – but pricey. Others have more of a reputation as being good for a bargain. I’ve heard, though, that it’s a mixed blessing getting one of these businesses in. Yes, it saves you the hassle of running your own sale, but they retain the right to bring unsold goods from other sales into your sale. So your house becomes the showroom for other people’s wares. Though I suppose it’s swings and roundabouts, because your stuff in turn might be taken to do the rounds elsewhere.

Garage sales always seem well-attended. There’s always a line of cars parked outside the house, and a steady trickle of people heading in or out. At week-ends, a garage sale will typically open at 8.00am, but on week-days, I’m told they open up at 7.00 or even 6.30. The good stuff goes early, they say, but of course it depends what you’re looking for. One man’s trash is another man’s treasure… Or meat... Or poison.

I haven’t been to many sales. Occasionally, I’ve stopped at one in the neighbourhood, and given the kids a dollar to spend on a toy for fun. I once saw a glider (swing seat) as I drove by a sale, and stopped to buy it – something of a bargain at $20, though it did need some attention. I’ve walked round a few just because I was initially rather intrigued by the phenomenon, and wanted to see what they were like. I also wanted to pick up some tips and get the confidence to run our own garage sale, which we did last year on 31st October, Hallowe’en, and which I’ll tell you about in the next post.

Thoughts on blogging

There’s another reason I’m sad, as well as yesterday's general grief. When the Cyber Mummy conference details were published, I looked at them, and thought “well, those sessions are not really for me, but I’ll get something out of them, I’m sure, and I’d love to meet up with everyone”. But for a few days it’s been really getting under my skin, and I’ve been trying to work out why. I mean, I’ve said more than a few times that I’m not bothered if other people want to work with PR companies, get their blog into a league table, worry about their reader stats. It’s just not for me. That’s my position: the blogosphere is big enough for all of us, right?

But I confess that I do also sense an increasing disconnect, which the conference has thrown into focus for me, between where I am, and where the whole mummy blogging ship is sailing. And I feel that disconnect as something of a bereavement. I really do. I just hadn’t quite realised it before in that way. It’s partly because I’m simply growing out of the world I used to thrive in. It’s hard to share the intensity of feeling about the woes of potty training and sleep deprivation when you’re out of that stage of life. Mummy blogging will always be more about babies and toddlers than school kids. I know that. I notice that a lot of the more mature mummy bloggers are writing for Powder Room Graffiti. It’s almost like a class reunion over there. But I don’t feel I quite fit there either.

So these are mostly my issues. Growing up, growing out, moving on. (I blame it on being an expat: we think too much about moving on.)

But I also do think there IS something sad for the majority of mummy bloggers here. I’m going to say this, and I’m not going to be popular. Yes, my “there’s room for us all” philosophy has a lot of truth in it, but it’s more complicated than that. I do feel that the more blogging becomes the carrier of commercial interests, and the more that becomes the norm and the expectation, the harder it is to exist without buying into that. And that represents a loss of some kind.

The phenomenon of blogging has been amazing in giving people a voice. People who wouldn’t otherwise have much of a voice: mums at home, lonely expats, people with cancer, couples struggling with infertility, women who’ve lost babies. What have these people found with that voice? They’ve found two things, I think. Connection. Moments when they’ve read a blog post and felt “yes, that’s JUST how it is – how lovely that someone has been able to encapsulate it so perfectly in words”. Or when they’ve written a post and provided that moment for someone else, who’s left a comment to tell them so. There’s something about not being alone in an experience which is terribly important to the human condition.

First, connection. Second, writing. I know for sure that I’m not the only one who has found that the process of taking an experience or a feeling, and wrestling it into words, words that others will comprehend, somehow makes a big difference. Sometimes it offers insight, sometimes it has a transformative effect. I haven’t worked it all out yet, but I just know that it is important. Blogging has taken its place in the long history that story-telling and debate has occupied in cultures down the ages. Being able to make people laugh, cry, understand… this is an important thing.

There. I’ve said my piece. I’m sure I’ll come to Cyber Mummy, because I can’t see myself staying away, and even an old Luddite like me can recognise that I could do with some ideas on tarting up my blog a little. This isn’t meant to be a polemic about the conference or its organizers. I can see that for many people, having windows opened on to ways that your blog can earn you money, or freebies, can be tremendously confidence-boosting (quite apart from the value of the items themselves). If the commercial world is interested in your opinion, you have a voice that you didn’t have before. It’s a different voice to the one I have, or want, but it’s a voice, for sure. I can see that it’s a big ship that’s a-sailing in that direction, so I guess it must be me who is different (not wrong, just different).

But when I’m sitting in that session ‘figuring out whether good writing matters’, don’t catch my eye, because I’ll either cry or get an attack of the giggles. Because I know that for me, and for many, that is something we got figured out way back.

Well, that’s where I am. I know that things move on, and that new things come. So I suppose the challenge for me now is to find where and how I can continue to pursue my own interest, and leave others to pursue theirs, without making it into a conflict or a competition. Part of me wants to run an alternative conference (at a different time to Cyber Mummy) which would have this kind of a schedule:

Opening session: yoga (so we’d all come in yoga bottoms, and therefore not have to worry about what to wear)

Morning session: why did you start blogging? How has it changed you? Has it been entirely positive? What about the negatives?

Lunch: very long, lots of opportunity to chat, requirement to move between tables at least twice in order to mix everyone up, definitely involving cake and/or chocolate

Afternoon session: is your blog anonymous? Why? How does your online persona differ from your real self? Is that significant? Do you have a vision for the future of your blog?

Tea: a drink with jam and bread

Final session: Cyber-friends: as real as real life friends? Friendship as part of the whole blogging experience.

I’m kind of half serious about this, because these are the kind of things that interest me about mummy blogging. Maybe people are getting together to discuss these kinds of things already, and I just haven't found out. If so, please point me in the right direction. Otherwise, if enough of you fellow touchy-feelies out there are interested, maybe I could hire a life coach to be a facilitator, and a caterer, and a venue (or get a sponsor to let us use their premises), and… just thinking out loud here.

And next… The Garage Sale!

[I want to add that I hadn’t realized that Cyber Mummy is not put on by BMB. That does change things a little, though I think the Cyber Mummy conference has just served as a focus for things I’ve already been mulling over in a more vague way.]

Vlog music

This is a salute to Tom. He is Elsie Button's husband, and father of Betty and Phil Mitchell (sorry, in-joke that only regular readers of Elsie's blog will get. Hang on, I hate in-jokes on blogs. They can be so excluding. You can read about it here). The marvellous Tom worked out what song I was wanting to use as backing music to my vlog about the vegetable juicer. It was Love Fool, by The Cardigans. As Tom realised, my words bear no resemblance to the original, and that could explain why I couldn't find the song in all my web searches. Even the most intelligent web search engine can't read my mind (although I expect it won't be long before they invent that).

It is a great song, though, so I'm putting it here to get y'all toe-tapping. But when the chorus comes round, you've got to try the new Iota lyrics, (which, frankly, are much better). Remember, it's

"Hold me, Squeeze me, Don't ever leave me".





Embedding a youtube video? Ha, easy peasy yesterday's news for us vloggers!

Thank you, Tom!

And another thing - thank you all so much for your lovely affirming comments. Have to admit it was quite scary putting that vlog up. I'm glad you like my voice. People have told me before that I have a nice voice, but I've never liked it myself. I didn't like it anyway, and then a French teacher said "Oh la la, tu as une vrai probleme au niveau des voyelles" (you have a real problem at the level of your vowels - the French are always talking about levels of things) which probably didn't help, given the fact that I remember that comment to this day - there's a clue in there somewhere.

And in answer to those of you who asked, can I witter on ad infinitum? I think the answer would have to be... yes.

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Iota vlogs

I bet you never thought you'd read those words. I, the most technologically unproficient, in order to form a more perfect blog, establish justice, ensure domestic tranquility, and generally keep up with the times, decided I'd have a go at vlogging. I've tried Twitter too, I'll have you know. Actually, joking aside, I think that is one of the benefits of blogging for me. It has kept me up to date with developments in the internet, and has forced me to get to grips with skills that I would never have otherwise bothered with.

There's a vlogging competition out at the moment, which gave me the impetus I needed (and I thought you'd forgive me if The Garage Sale had to wait). The competition is run by Cafe Bebe, where you'll be able to see all the vlogs (and in conjunction with Notes from Lapland - well, she has to find something to do in all those hours of winter darkness).

So here is my vlog. It may quite possibly be my last as well as my first, so make the most of it. It's rather long, and I'm thinking it'll probably be excluded from the competition on those grounds, but I thought I'd publish it anyway. I could re-do it, and make it snappier, but let's just say, this wasn't exactly the first attempt (some of the others ended with an expletive).

Ladies and Gentlemen,

For your delectation and delight... (and I apologise for the bit where I sound very patronising to Americans - I was trying to be jokey)

Iota vlogs!

Life isn't fair: the result

OK, so the winner of the "Not Fair" competition is...

Tattie Weasle.

I empathised with all the ones about children getting out of bed at inappropriate times, and their lack of domestic abilities, and anything to do with the weather, or time off work, but ultimately, Tattie won the day, because hers involved the separation of a woman from her chocolate, and we all know that Hell hath no fury like a woman dealing with chocolate separation. I also particularly liked the fact that the secret chocolate stash shouldn't have been there in the first place, as Tattie had given it up for Lent. But what's the point of moral indignation, if you have to be logical at the same time? No point at all, is the answer to that one.

So Tattie, you can choose what I write about next: Guns, Religion, The Garage Sale, or how I teach my kids that life isn't fair (yes, I have chocolate bars locked in perspex boxes all round the house, and I keep the keys hanging round my neck, even when I sleep). Or any other burning topic, really. If you've always wondered something about life in America, life as an expat, or life as me in any of my other guises, then here's your chance to ask. I would send you a bar of chocolate as a prize, but I fear that (a) you fall on the Cadbury's side of the Hershey's vs Cadbury's debate, I just sense that about you, so I would only disappoint, and (b) it wouldn't be very nice after it had been mailed all the way from here.

And while we wait for Tattie to make her choice, tum-ti-tum, I'll just burble on about things that have happened in 5-yo's life here recently.

First, 5-yo asked me out of the blue yesterday "Are all burglars boys, or can you be a burglar if you're a girl?" They're only in Kindergarten for five minutes, and already they're worrying about career choice. It's tough growing up these days.

Then, we were at a friend's house, and the mom was explaining that she'd shut the dog outside, as he's a herding dog by breed, and likes to try and herd children, and that can be a little alarming for children who aren't used to it. I saw 5-yo's eyes getting wider and wider. She's already nervous of dogs, and I could see she was struggling with the idea of a dog who sets out to hurt children, and the existence of breeds of hurting dogs. That's what comes of learning your English from parents with a strange accent. Luckily I read her mind, and was able to explain.

But then there was the time I over-explained. We were headed for the doctor's office, to have what I was saying would be her last immunisation until she was at least 12 or 13. We had the usual routine in place: breathe out, breathe out (ah, the usefulness of NCT classes), and then when it's over here's a lolly for being brave. I was reassuring her that it wouldn't hurt very much at all, just a little prick as the needle went in. She did that eyes-getting-wider thing that she does, and her voice wavered "There's a needle?" Drat...

Onto happier things, and 5-yo is deep in the midst of planning her birthday party. She is so excited that it is March - finally. My mother has recently got connected with email (yay, Mum), and 5-yo was dictating a message to her. As she dictated, I typed the following:

"Remember it is the month of my birthday. It really is, isn't it? I am going to have an Arts and Crafts party at home. I'm inviting 7 people. 12-yo and 9-yo are going to be helpers. Daddy is going to take the photos. Mummy is going to watch. The boys are helpers again."

Yup, too right. Because I'm the slacker who'll do nothing at all in advance, and then just sit around watching as the party runs itself...

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