WE'RE MOVING ON OUT

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There is no single thrill so great as getting first dibs on a garage sale.

OK, so there are some things that may slightly outweigh that – riding in outer space, having a child, getting an extra nickel of change from the soda machine – but for the sake of today’s column, that is the single greatest thrill, you understand?

My wife and I recently took part in the family free-all when we went to Atlanta for her grandmother’s I’m Moving Out of the House and Having a Garage Sale, So You Better Come Get Your Inheritance Now Event.

Her grandmother, Mama Jo, has lived in that house for over 30 years, which is a substantial amount of time to collect things. And I mean a lot of things. I mean things that, probably, should be in a museum, if not going for a pretty penny on e-bay. There are four children (and four spouses), seven grandchildren, and one incredibly handsome, sophisticated, and might we add charming grandson-in-law. Despite the large number of potential merchandise recipients, no one went without.

She had decided that the house was just too big now. That, and the once peaceful backyard forest is now a blazing extension of I-85, so the idea of moving to a condo was a no-brainer. Nothing like sitting on your back porch and feeling the wind of rush hour blowing through your hair.

When we first arrived in Atlanta, we went straight to Mama Jo’s house. Mama Jo came to the door looking like she had just jogged from Cleveland to get there. Haggard does not do justice to the way Mama Jo looked. Merle Haggard, perhaps. She looked rough.

Now don’t get me wrong (especially if you’re Mama Jo and someone, namely your granddaughter, sent you a copy of this). Mama Jo looked like anyone looks after packing up a house, which is she looked like she had been interrogated by the LAPD for the past 19 hours. In a nutshell, Mama Jo looked like she could use a Rip Van Winkle-style nap.

Most everything at the house was in boxes. What wasn’t in boxes had been spread out in her enormous downstairs den, awaiting the onslaught of bargain hunters for next week’s garage sale. My wife and I were told to go through all of the sale items and see if there was anything that we wanted to take for ourselves.

As we strolled through thousands of items, my wife began to relate various memories of the items we had. "And here are the Easter eggs we used to hide! And, look, here’s the Viewmaster we used to play with! Oh – and here’s the scythe we used to hunt neighborhood kitties with!" Oh, the folly of youth!

Eventually, my wife had identified the items of sentimental value that she wanted to bring back home. We got her grandfather’s office chair, a rocking chair, a chair for a vanity. So, if you’re looking to get us a gift, we’re good on chairs for the time being.

My wife also got a bunch of old family pictures, some crystal serving dishes, some old dolls, and, of course, the scythe. We loaded up the car with what we could, knowing we would be back in a few weeks to figure out how to get a giant rocking chair in a two-door car. Oh, and we also got a piano. Pretty sure we’re donating that to a local church, unless we can figure out a way to hook an engine up to that and drive it home. Despite how much fun that may be, I’m guessing the authorities would frown upon my travelling down the interstate in a baby grand.

Had it been up to Mama Jo, we would have come home with a whole bunch more stuff. Mama Jo, bless her tired heart, was trying her level best to move some of that merchandise. I felt like I was trapped inside a furniture store ad:

"EVERYTHING MUST GO!!! We’re moving to a new condo, and everything must be sold! We’re moving beds, we’re moving dressers, we’re moving the kitchen sink if you can figure out a way to get it out!"

While we had fun going through a house full of memories, it was also kinda sad. As we were leaving, my wife stopped and hugged her grandmother. "You know, Mama Jo, this may be the last time I hug you in this house."

"Yeah, I know," Mama Jo said. "You sure you don’t want the sink?"