We sat at a small table clustered with other empty tables under the white fabric awning in front of Rebooked. It was shaded and quiet and reasonably private, but public enough I didn’t feel awkward being alone with Rico. He placed his bag on the table between us and smiled at me, suddenly shy now that he had my attention.
“Clock’s ticking,” I said.
“Yeah, um…” he started. He pushed his sunglasses up onto his head and studied my face for a moment. When he finally settled on my eyes, he gazed intently.
‘Let’s have a yard sale,’ he said. ‘We’ll make a little money and get rid of some junk,’ he said. ‘It’ll be fun,’ he said. So we had a yard sale. Here is what he didn’t say:
Yard sales are work. We got up at 4 am…on a Saturday. Four o’clock…in the morning…on SATURDAY. After a quick breakfast I pulled my hair up into a ponytail (trust me, this is the proper hairstyle for yard sales, even if you’re over 50) and helped load the last of our stuff (treasures) in the pickup and headed to town.
My weekly excursions to the Farmer’s Market and ‘Rebooked’ (a used book store) are the most enjoyable of my very limited errands. Though I could easily order produce online and have it delivered to my door within the hour, and every book I could ever want to read can be instantly downloaded to my Kindle, I preferred taking the time to go shop for myself.