Yard sale trauma

I got up very early this morning and wrote for 2-3 hours. By 8:00 I was at the post office (had to wait until they opened at 8:30), then the bank to get change for the yard sale, and spent the day selling stuff. People will buy anything. One couple bought the overstuffed sofa and the spool bed, plus a pile of other stuff. Pat came in the afternoon and brought a purely gorgeous bedspread and pillows with matching shams that she got at Susan's yard sale last week. Neither of them wanted the set because it's yay heavy--trapunto-quilted or matelasse, king-sized. I'm going to try it on my bed tonight, and if it looks good I'll buy the set for my big bed. I don't really think it's any heavier than the cut-velvet spread that I made. The trouble with the velvet spread is that every time I wash it, it shrinks a few inches, and now it's really too short for the bed. It's cotton cut-velvet, washable but obviously not shrink-proof. I can use it on the guest room bed. The set that Pat brought is very pale green, sort of celadon.

I sold two Gene Marshall dolls and the British Bird doll, plus all their clothes. One man bought a box full of McCoy pottery. The lady who talked her husband into buying the truckload of furniture (sofa, etc.) asked if I had any rings to sell. I went upstairs and came back with six or seven rings, mostly silver with agate or faux pearls or plain glass, but also those two gold rings with tiny diamonds that I found when I lived in the apartment. The lady bought all of them, including the gold ones at $10 each. She and her husband bought so much stuff that I got sort of flustered trying to keep up with it, and I tripped and fell with that big McCoy swan in my hands, broke the swan, cut my hand and skint my knees (I could tell, because of the little drops of blood coming through my pants legs), but thankfully didn't hit my poor old head.

All in all, it was a good day, beautiful weather, many extremely friendly people, several lovely children (each of whom I gave a toy or two). One big old rough-looking man, looked about thirty-five years old, never said a word, looked glum and irritable--until he spied the toy typewriter, and he almost went into fits over it. Bought it and left, beaming like a kid with a new bicycle.

One couple spotted my framed photo of Stonehenge, and we talked about our trips to England for about half an hour--especially about the horrid English food. The man said during their trip, his wife tricked him into ordering a beef tongue sandwich, and didn't tell him what it was until he had eaten a bite. She said yeah, he turned sort of green when she told him.

While I was waiting at the P.O., Joanne Malone came in and we chatted about Arts Council doings.

I'm so beat, I just want to go to bed. But I've got several more loads to take to the basement for tomorrow.