I can’t disclose how early I got to the estate sale Saturday morning, because I
beat both my mom and the gay decorator, who was, as promised, “tinkled” at me.
In fact, he tried to buy my first place in line for fifty bucks, which was
tempting, but I think my mother would have had my hide. It’s been months since
we’ve been first at one of these sales. The cars started lining up on the street
outside the house at around 4 a.m. I had packed pillows and blankets, and Sophie
and I crawled into the back seat to sleep for awhile and wait out the hours. On
the cold mornings, everyone tries to stay in their cars for as long as possible.
There is an unspoken rule of respect that gives the first in line spot to the
first car there. Saturday, however, some rookie had been woken up by her son at
4:20, and decided to get to the sale earlier than she usually did, and got out
of her car at 6. Since rookies don’t know the rule of “first come, first serve”,
this means everyone else has to get out of their toasty little cars to make sure
they retain their numerical ranking. The banter is always interesting; who is
looking for what, the rookies asking questions about how it all works. At 8 a.m.
the sign up sheet comes out, you can put your name on the list (in the order
which you arrived), and then everyone disperses to get coffee and breakfast
before the sale opens at 9. Of course, the door didn’t open at 8, and so Dyed
Orange Hair Lady, now known as Dyed Black Hair Lady, annoyingly pushes to the
front of the line to gripe at all of us about not ringing the bell. And rings
the bell. And runs away. As if we’re not going to know who did it. So signed up,
coffeed up, danished up, and warmed up, an hour later, we’re in line again,
because if you’re not there when your name is called at 9 you have to go to the
back of the very long 120-person line. Gay Decorator is still trying to buy me
off. My mom is still shooting darts at me telling me to say no. And the door
opens, and we’re in. The race is on. The first thing I spy is a crewel-work arm
chair, as advertised, and I rip the tag off. After a quick 360 in the living
room, I rush through the kitchen (later, I realize, a mistake–there is nothing
but dishes in kitchens), and then down the hall to the bedrooms. I skip the
first bedroom, because I see people already sweeping the room, and dart to the
second bedroom. Jackpot. Two twin caned French beds, a gorgeous painted French
blue partner’s desk, a small caned French desk chair, and a smashing mirror.
Now, into the first bedroom, where, much as I expected, tags are being removed
even as I glance about the room. My mom has alread snagged a set of 6 Louis XVI
dining room chairs. We’re talking less than 5 minutes into the sale, and all the
good stuff is gone. It’s a highly valuable lesson on being first in line. Now my
mom and I surf the “little” stuff. Linens, china, knick-knacks. She has an
antique booth at one of the local antique malls and is pretty well known for
getting some good buys. My dad and I start loading up the truck (it’s going to
take two trips). We pay, we’re outta there. The stuff is now scattered across my
mom’s living room floor, with the exception of the crewel-work armchair, which I
promptly carried home and put in my office. Last night my parents regailed my
sister and brother-in-law with tall tales of my competitive spurt at the sale
that morning. It totally explains why I’ve never understood the nature of
football: why fight over a little odd-shaped ball you don’t even get to take
home when there is gobs of French furniture out there at bargain prices?

Since my last blog entry, I haven’t stopped going. I’ve been packing and
shipping and babysitting and finally I’m home and I’m still not going to stop.
There is an estate sale tomorrow and I’m going to be the first one in line.
Yeah, I’m the nut who stays up all night just to get there at 3 a.m. No, I’m not
kidding. I don’t need much of anything. I have tables coming out my ears, two
sets of six dining room chairs, a sofa I don’t have room for, and too many
lamps. I’m sorely lacking in the arm-chair department–you know, the comfy,
crawl-into-it and curl up kind. My well saved babysitting money is burning a
whole in my pocket, however, so no telling what I’ll come home with. I wish you
guys could see the ins and outs of these sales. It’s practically a religion,
complete with commandments:
This is the first and greatest commandment: thou shalt stand in line by first
come, first serve.
There shall be no cutting in line.
If there is a dispute about what number in line someone is, it shall be
resolved by Bill.
Thou shalt discreetly discuss what you are there to purchase in order to
determine your enemies.
Upon entering the sale premise, thou shalt smartly move in the opposite
direction as your competitor, thereby reaching different rooms first.
Thou shalt not ring the sale house doorbell at 9:04 if the doors have still
not been opened.
Thou shalt realize that once inside said doors, every man is for himself.
Thou shalt remember the names of all fellow early morning salers, as you will
see them again on a weekly basis.
Thou shalt discreetly discuss those who break the commandments and quietly
exclude them from your clique.
I could write a book on the characters that show up, and someone would buy the
movie rights in an instant. It’s the oddest set of people, from all walks of
life, all there for different reasons, who really have grown to hold these early
weekend mornings as endearing. The sense of rapport is touching. There is the
persnickety old man, who collects art, and is usually there first, unless it’s
rumored to be a really good sale, and the gay decorator is there first. There is
the 65 year old lady with dyed orange hair and a fanny pack, constantly annoying
the art collector. There is the snooty dude who always cuts in line and lets his
wife in, even though she gets there way later than any of the rest of us. The
quiet lady who is there for doll things, the other gay guy with the dog who
pulls his white socks up to his knees, the neighbors of the old lady who just
died who have been there before everyone else, do not follow the commandments,
talk really loud, and think the rest of us are all there because we are SO after
that 1970’s metal and pleather and laminate-top breakfast room set. Little do
they know the set would have actually sat there through the course of a
Saturday, on until half price Sunday, when they actually would have been able to
call it a wise use of spending. Tomorrow’s sale qualifies as “really good”, so
I’m up against the gay decorator to be the first in line. The last “really good”
sale I arrived 15 minutes after he did, thereby almost beating him, and he told
me that if I ever beat him he’d be “tinkled” at me. I think that’s gay for
“pissed off”. I’ll let you know how it goes.

I’m working on my Illustration Friday interpretation of “smelly”. It’s taking
forever (like, I might not be done until next week), because I couldn’t think of
one thing smelly I wanted to draw and have ended up drawing all things smelly,
as polled and nominated by friends and family. Today is GORGEOUS outside. I
propped the back door open and Sophie is running in and out, celebrating a new
found freedom in the choice to move about the property as she pleases. It’s also
a great day for the door to be open because I bought two new sisal rugs last
night, and already lectured her today on what would happen if she decided to
potty on them. So I’ve pulled back the curtains, mopped the kitchen floor and
I’m getting ready to start working on the big project o’ the day. Amanda will be
here any minute, and we’ve got no less that twenty million sets of photocards to
get taped and shipped. Today. I want the boxes out of my living room floor. If
anybody needs any holiday photocards, email me. I can make ya a deal.

I got an email from a client last night discussing the new price sheet I faxed
over to her yesterday. She is concerned that she will not be able to sell my
product, despite the fact that we are now offering a superior product, that has
to be purchased in higher quantity, but at a lower cost per piece. I call this a
“Great Value”, she calls it “hard to sell”. Competitors are offering the same
thing at a much higher price per piece, and frankly, it’s just too much darn
man-power to work my tail off, run back and forth to printers, use up gasoline,
and stress out over mistakes for what I’m making on these things! And wouldn’t
some law of consumerism state that if you raise prices, you get fewer orders,
but you make more on each sale?

I didn’t blog yesterday because there were workers pounding on my roof and it
sounded like I was living in one of the outer layers of hell and I couldn’t
think. I haven’t blogged yet today because the darling workers pounding gave me
a headache yesterday that’s carried over today. Lovely mood. I started tackling
(picture: wrestling to the ground) a horrendous stack of papers this morning.
Each delightful (sarcasm) piece of paper has to have it’s own little
micro-management meeting, and so I’ve only gotten past the first page. I’m
finding myself wishing, wishing, wishing I could just have enough energy to get
everything done in one day. I think I need a nap.

I just updated the links, and I know I’ve forgotten someone. Remind me, if you
want to be linked. I really can’t believe what a link-whore I’m becoming. But I
love it! I love all the oodles of creativity out there, and this is just easier
than going back to my bookmarks every day. Oh, and thanks to Giao, YAY! is my
new word of the week. Yay! Blogs!

I have a deadline that’s tomorrow, for artwork I haven’t started, and am not
inspired to create. I also have to get a disk to the printer that has taken me
all too long to put together. I’ve had a three hour nap, I’ve got Guster on in
the background…something’s gotta happen here. Soon.

It’s been a full week, and I’m not sure where my head is. Last night I lost it
in the car on the way home from my sister’s house, getting all over Drew for
stuff that really could have been left alone. This morning I feel guilty, and
still overwhelmed. It’s a good overwhelmed, not the
waters-swirling-above-my-head kind; more like the
I-love-the-possibilities-of-my-life kind. I’m off for a morning of community
volunteering–picking through piles of old clothes and sorting them out for a
thrift shop. This afternoon holds the task of painting cabinet doors and
drawers. There is a chance that I’ll actually have a kitchen by the end of this
month.

Participation in Illustration Friday, over at Penelope Illustration.

So I left off with Rubber-Sol’s request for a doodle, here are a couple. Ashley
asked for a pic of me and Drew, and a fave outfit. I don’t know if I have a fave
outfit, but I know I can’t keep from living in this pink cable-knit hooded
cashmere thing. Luscious, and worth every unreasonable dime I paid for it. And
Kathleen, here are more favorite shoes (can’t have too many of them)–I still
need to get the pic of my kitchen window view and the last book I read.
Irishgirl also asked for a fave place in my house–I don’t know if I have a
favorite place in my house–yet! Still very much a work in progress, as
evidenced by the front porch (thanks alot). Ashley, Jes and Katie got a three
for one–here is my backyard, and a view of my favorite tree, a redbud. For
Yvonne, here is my favorite mug (note evidence of remodeling), comfy chair (with
cards on top, Katie), and my bedside table. Jes asked for my front door, and
bulletin board–lacking bulletins. I promise I wasn’t procrastinating when I did
this. Let’s consider it multitasking today, shall we?