Saturday, June 25, 2011

The Garage Sale: June 24-June 26!

What about Day 1? That was yesterday, and yesterday is over, pal! And really the bargains don't happen til tomorrow (Day 3), by which I mean Sunday, in case you're reading this Sunday (in case I don't finish writing this til Sunday). Half-price Sunday at the ol' Garage Sale. GAH-ridge Sale, sez da Brits. Grodge, sesame.

You like antique furniture? Whaddya? Too modern? Looka dese treshuhs:

The Oregonian, Sunday, May 27, 1951 - "Gaunt, fiery" De Valera stages a comeback!

Terrific progress in the field of handicraft weaving!

Hip end tables - try to find a better price! Go on, try, you big shot!

Friday was a success. The early birds were here at 9 (hey, gramps, the ad said 10 -- who cares if you ate your eggamuffin too early?). No complaints, though, we (Adam & Josh, not Erin & me) sold a bunch.

Today,  hot Saturday, the sun ever so buoyant, we saw fewer customers, but had a swell time basting on the driveway. I went undercover as a customer:

And tried a little creative marketing on some items:

No, I DON'T think it's "too soon."
Look what else we got!

Start a wolf pack of your own! Come on down to the Basement Gang's Antique & the Such As Garage Sale! It's half-price Sunday!

Friday, June 3, 2011

I See The Sun Between the Leaves

So by now, the gloom cannot be beared. It's unbearable, this unbearable gloom. Beared. "Christ, you look like you been beared." What would that mean? It would mean you look like hell. But we, shufflers through the gloom, rain-logged, backs bowed, don't look like hell. We look like Limbo, we look lost. And we have lost things. Our patience, our lust for life, our good nature. We've lost our good nature because we've lost our Good Nature. The sky weeps, the wind moans. This has been the long winter, the winters of the Northwest, cold, but not freezing, and wet, without snow.

We are exiting spring, but our hearts have slept through it. I can't see summer through the sheets of rain. It's up ahead! What but of it? Didn't we hope the same for spring? Spring hopes eternal, waits in vain, in rain.

But the summer must come. The gloom can no longer be beared! Beared? No, wait, it's borne, not beared! The gloom cannot be borne!

Hurry up, summer, true summer!