Memories & Folding Tables
There’s something oddly vulnerable about placing pieces of your life on folding tables at the end of your driveway.
Strangers pick things up.
Inspect them.
Negotiate over them.
Meanwhile you’re thinking:
“That ornament held our last Christmas in the old house.”
I’ve avoided the May long weekend Community Yard Sale at our cottage for the past few years. Not sure why.
Most likely because I’ve never had the time to sort through all of the crates, boxes, and bags that have lived untouched in the basement since we moved into the cottage.
This year I had the time. I also had the motivation to continue my “clearing of the clutter” as one of my retirement goals!
So, I turned the key to unlock the door, turned on the light and there I was.
My own personal time capsule.
The first few boxes were filled with pieces of our old life.
Bar glasses still in unopened packages.
Wine charms.
Coasters.
Little entertaining touches that once felt important enough to save.
Into the sell pile.
Mostly.
Another tote held Christmas jars and serving platters.
Immediately, I was back in our final Christmas at the old house — the noise, the food, the magic that swirled through every room.
I stuck a piece of green painter’s tape on the box and wrote:
“$5 takes them all.”
But I also knew those Dollar Store jars were priceless for reasons no shopper would ever understand.
Then came the sombrero headbands from a Summer Fiesta party at the cottage.
Into the “not sure yet” pile.
Later that day, my sister admitted she was keeping hers too.
Decision made.
Into the “keep… just because” pile.
I found two full boxes of DVDs and immediately moved them toward the sell pile.
In that same conversation with my sister, she told me she had done the exact same thing last year… and kept hers.
“You just never know,” she said.
“There’s always going to be a snowy afternoon or girls’ weekend where you want a little nostalgia.”
Honestly? She wasn’t wrong.
Every object I picked up became:
Sell?
Maybe?
Memory?
I realized that I wasn’t just sorting stuff.
I was sorting and labelling:
Versions of myself
Family moments
Old traditions.
Maybe the value of these things was never really about the objects themselves.
It was about the moments attached to them.
And maybe that’s why this was so emotional.
Some items will:
leave,
become part of someone else’s story,
continue living elsewhere.
And that’s okay.
That’s actually kind of beautiful.
Maybe that’s the strange beauty of garage sales.
One person is clearing space.
Another is discovering something new.
And somewhere in between, old memories quietly change hands.
Until next time, may a small wave of inspiration find you.
