Leaving Oz Behind

The kids and I went to a school sponsored yard sale this weekend. I love yard sales, rummaging through memories and little bits of real life helps you connect. It was towards the end of the day, so they were offering a dollar a bag special. We gave my seven year old the bag and sent her on her way. My soon to be teen saw her friends and darted off.

Looking at the memory strewn tables, I tried to imagine the lives these items had.

Kitchen appliances, some beaten to death and others still in their original boxes were on the first table. I looked at some of the gadgets and quickly thought of my over-gadgeted kitchen. I was not the only one who bought a doughnut maker in a Homer Simpson frenzy only to realize Dunkin Donuts was down the street.

Table two, glassware. The designs were pretty scary, but remembering back to getting my first apartment and begging my dad for a set of dishes he had bought at a garage sale, brought a smile to my face. I even remembered selling ,at a yard sale, my first set of 'new' dishes that my sister bought for me at a department store. They wouldn't be so in fashion today either.

To the Chachka table. I always wonder if the previous owners of the of these items, that are purely raw emotion sculpted in plastic, glass, clay, etc., are still alive. The soul purpose for buying these items is the feelings they evoke in the purchaser, how many ceramic toads really serve any other purpose in this world?

Sporting goods were strewn on the ground. Here's where my geek comes out. I think back to when roller skates had four chunky wheels, golf clubs were designed by players and a push button Zebco meant you were a 13 year old fishing king.

I saved the best for last and met up with my 7 year old, Lizzy. She was holding a barely filled bag and sauntering over some childrens' books. There was a bittersweet sadness to childrens' items. They were footprints of childhood left behind in the quest for adulthood. I looked around for my twelve year old and quickly saw her talking to her friends. She was nervously looking at me as if I were some ticking time bomb that would explode in her embarrassment. I wanted to scream, "You are my little girl, don't let that time pass so easily.", but knew I was helpless in slowing down the changes that were already occurring; her memories would suffer the same fate at our future yard sales. Lizzy grabbed my hand and said daddy, I think I'm ready to go. I smiled at her and the half filled bag, her precious youth still intact.

I grabbed a couple more books and a set of glasses. I then called to Emily, trying to do so in a tone that would not raise notice by her friends. She met up with Lizzy and me as I was paying and talking to the ladies who were running the sale. The business done, we slowly walked back to the truck leaving the memories of other peoples lives out on display behind us.