Estate Sale: One Man's Junk is the Same Man's Junk. No Treasures!

Living out here in Wetcreek, I have learned to be comfortable with whatever I can get.

Mail has to be picked up at the local post office whenever we pass by.

Milk has to be bought from the tiny gas station across the road from the P.O. or from Dollar General ten miles back the other way down the highway.

Visits to my mother usually dictate when we go into the nearest town to run the odd errand or pick up groceries to last for a couple of weeks.

So yesterday should have been something special. 

The trip to the P.O. only produced Junk Mail, but I did mail a thank you letter to The Netherlands (more about that tomorrow) and also find out that our friendly post mistress has been transferred to a post office 30 miles away. Can't imagine that she likes that drive, since she practically lives across the street from her old P.O. Anyway, hope she is happy and got a good raise in salary. With that drive everyday, she will need it.

Now to the special part of the morning-- I headed for an Estate Sale! Hard to believe, but I think it should have been called an "Inside the House Sale." Not an imposing house, but at least the yard was spruced up and things looked clean. Two older guys were manning the bookshelves and broken down bits of furniture out in the garage and welcomed me to come shop inside the cool house.

I could almost not see the neat piles of junk sorted out on several tables in the living room. The only light was coming from the attached/open kitchen that had been blocked off from the shoppers. The kitchen was a disaster! What can you expect? With at least six "salespeople" scurrying around in those three small rooms, there was not much more room to shop.

And I tried to find something interesting! Really, I did. I heard one sales lady say that they had spent two full days sorting through this stuff to get it ready for this sale. I think they could have spent about an hour filling up garbage bags for trash pick-up. It was that bad! Everything was worn out, broken, sticky, and generally useless. 

Finally I spied a still in the wrapper car seatbelt shoulder pad like the ones my hub just ordered from Amazon. The price was the same as what he paid, but I bought an extra one. Then I shuffled through the scarves for 50 cents each and found two pretty ones Made in Italy. (Jill, I am still looking for Vera scarves for you.) 

When I went to pay, the young girl tallying things up said, "Four dollars fifty." Don't know where she learned how to add, but I corrected her and paid my three dollars and drove on down to the new Dollar General where things aren't crusty, rusty, sticky, grubby, and worn out.

So much for Estate Sales out here in the sticks!