It’s the little things.
That’s how I’m going to approach this, that it’s the little things that make up the whole universe. And to support this grandiose assumption, I am going to reference a yard sale.
My sister has had several large yard sales over the past few years. Usually, they are multi-family to raise money for one good cause or another. A few years ago she had one to raise money for a local water issue, and it was there that I found a man’s entire life in three cardboard boxes.
This summer, there was another yard sale to raise money for a woman’s shelter.
For two days, in the blistering heat, the driveway and yard were covered with tables and blankets that housed mostly junk that people donated because they didn’t want to throw them away. I know that feeling. I can’t throw away books. I’ve packed plastic bins and dragged them to yard sales, or donated, but could never bring myself to throw away a book.
Same with music. This past weekend I bought two collections of Classical Music CDs because they came painfully close to being tossed. Chance are I will never listen to them. Realistically, all I’ve done was commute their sentence for when my kids must make that decision when the time comes to clear out my basement.
But for now, they’re safe (still in the trunk of my car, but safe).
Also, I’ve kicked the can down the road when it comes to my own stuff. Packed away in plastic bins in my basement are books, and writing, and correspondence that my kids will decide what to do with one day.
On the second day of the yard sale, as we neared the end, there was a collection of Classic Rock ‘n Roll cassette tapes. The group of us would periodically review the remaining items, and those deemed un-sellable where tossed in the trash.
Each time, I gave reprieve to those cassettes, even though there was an empty slot in the case that made the collection incomplete.
The others asked, “Who even owns a cassette player anymore?”
But back on the table they went.
A woman parked her car and worked her way across the lawn, and up the driveway, inspecting items as she moved. We sat at the end of the driveway, under a canopy to avoid the heat. Eventually, the woman stopped at the cassette tapes, picked them up, turned to us and asked, “How much?”
We all were a little shocked and gave out a small cheer. They told the woman how I wanted to save them, and that I just couldn’t throw them away. The price of the collections was a couple of dollars, which I happily paid, then asked her why she wanted the tapes.
“We just put my dad in a nursing home, he has Alzheimer’s,” she told us. “Just yesterday I put a cassette player in his room. The only thing that he responds to is classic rock ‘n roll, but I couldn’t find any of his old cassettes. I’ve been hoping all day that I would find some – and here they are.”
Like I said, it’s the little things.
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