I bought her for $250 in 1997 and she never really graced my walls. She lived a life of shame in the basement for 13 years, hiding from the disapproving sneer of my husband and the tender sensibilities of my daughter. She lived this half-life with me, impoverished, unappreciated, dragged into the light for yard sale after yard sale, never to be claimed. Until last week.
She walked away with a stranger at my latest pay-what-you-want sale. She was free, and--what is it they say? If you love something everyone else considers unredeemingly hideous, let it go. Something like that.
I have tackled the middens in my basement so many times I can't count, yet there's always more to strip away. Even after a successful yard sale, I was greeted with this when I donned waders and went down today:
|The yard sale midden.|
I did what any self-respecting person would do under the circumstances. I set the chicken timer for 60 minutes, and proceeded to clean:
|this used to be an office.|
|we're all lucky it's blurry.|
|might even get the chair back soon.|
|It may not look like much, but that's the midden pile after.|
Sort of like humans might live here someday.