Now, unbelievably, I find myself ready to put in a good word about yard sales.
I admit that, in the past, I’ve viewed them as blights upon the landscape – really just heaps of trash with price stickers on them. Yard sales were something you just had to put up with like a crying baby on an airplane or a woman with a fistful of coupons ahead of you in the grocery check-out line or getting crowns on your teeth.We got an early, bad exposure to yard sales with a next door neighbor who ran one every weekend for a year or more. On Saturday mornings,
Bill would cover his front lawn with tables of glass and ceramic vases, piles of chipped china, boxes of rusting tools and kitchen utensils, mounds of discarded clothing and shoes, and stray chairs, desks and bookshelves.It drove Paul so crazy that, one day, after disgustedly surveying Bill’s merchandise, he said, “Why don’t you just put that stuff out for the trash?”
The indignant reply, “This is all GOOD stuff!” summed up the motivation for every yard sale aficionado.
Soon Paul began fantasizing about making a film short in which he would drive up to yard sales in the
neighborhood and, at each one, offer to buy everything they had to sell. Then he would motion a gigantic garbage truck in and throw every last tea kettle, roller skate, lamp and Encyclopedia Britannica into the truck. He relished the thought of the camera recording shock and awe on the faces of the sellers as an energetic trash masher chewed, chopped and pulverized all of their “good stuff.” I had not planned to accompany him on that film shoot, which, fortunately, never got past the planning stage.Later, when the David and John were young, Paul’s mother showed me
the possibilities of yard sales. In order to have toys on hand for her many grandchildren, she scoured the neighborhoods, finding things David and John loved like a Fisher Price airplane, a schoolhouse and puzzles. She got a little carried away when it came to buying used bikes, however, and amassed a huge collection of derelict two-wheelers in all styles, colors and sizes for the lake house, which gave the entire family plenty of hands-on experience at replacing chains and changing tires.Without telling Paul, I checked out some sales myself, scoring things like a Fisher Price garage, a big yellow truck full of blocks, a toy treehouse and a metal board with alphabet letter
magnets. I couldn’t justify buying the boys a play kitchen at full price but I found a toy stove and refrigerator for $10 at a yard sale. Sure, they were scratch and dent models but the boys didn’t care, plus they were stocked with play food including plastic apples and bananas which doubled as hand grenades and guns. (See my post “Arms and the Boys.”)I never got around to having my own yard sale – after all, I could only
push Paul so far. Besides, when my friend Tina held a yard sale in the upscale Chicago neighborhood of Winnetka, she attracted a horde of rapacious bargain hunters, like a reincarnation of Genghis Khan and the Mongols. Her 4-year-old daughter Claire was so enchanted by the crowd and the excitement that she didn’t want it to end. She had brought out and sold most of Tina’s designer lingerie and was back in the house emptying Tina’s sweater drawers when her parents caught on and cut short her brilliant sales career.One September when David and John were in grade school, I had nightmares about all the new toys, books and games that were about to descend on our house for the boys’ November and December birthdays and
Christmas. (See my post, “Toy Story.”) Finally, I issued a Mother Edict - no more stuff was coming into the house until some stuff went out - and suggested they have their own yard sale. It worked out great – the boys cleared out toys that were past prime, made some money and had fun bargaining with the buyers – or mostly great, although John immediately plowed his profits into a PlayMobile castle and, when the kids next door left with a wagonload of David and John’s old junk, I was afraid their mom would never speak to me again.
Now, as a grandparent, yard sales have become my new best friends. You can find necessities like car seats, high chairs and porta-cribs at great prices, along with tons of toys. While I had saved David and John’s Legos, PlayMobiles, matchbox cars, trains and big metal trucks, I didn’t have much in the way of toddler toys for Willem’s visits this past summer. Thanks to yard sales, The Boss played with a fire truck, a farm, a 
Noah’s ark, a push and ride toy and a big car instead of my food processor, Paul's golf clubs and our ceramic tulips.While it wasn’t apparent to Paul, I did exercise discrimination in what I bought. I said “No” to some great deals - a grocery cart (only $1), a lawnmower (only $2), and a tool bench (big and flashy) because a Brooklyn baby has groceries delivered, doesn’t see his Dad cut the grass and wouldn’t
know what to do with a tool bench except climb on it. I also risked being labeled a “No-Fun Nana” when I turned down an electric riding car and, in fact, nixed everything electric or battery powered. I neglected to do my homework, however, when I bought a toy garage with all sorts of cool features like an elevator, a car lift, ramps, a tow truck and a gas pump. What I didn’t see but what Willem saw first was the battery-operated sound panel – just push the buttons and you get a phone ringing, gas pumps dinging, an engine revving 
and tires squealing. Caveat Emptor.Now, Megan has been making the rounds of “stoop sales,” the Brooklyn equivalent of yard sales, because there’s no point to pay full price for toys that the Boss may only play with for a week or two. Recently, she brought home a
toy stroller which saved Willem, who had been snatching them from other toddlers in the park, from a life of crime. She also scored hits with a toy recycling truck and a fire truck, which Willem embraced like it was a newborn baby.
Thanks to Paul for photographing all the Brooklyn street scenes.
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