Yard Sale (Encore)

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Welcome to Bedtime Stories for Everyone,

in which

nothing much happens.

You feel good,

and then you fall asleep.

I'm Catherine Nikolai.

I write and read

all the stories you hear on Nothing Much Happens.

Audio Engineering is by Bob Wittersheim.

We are bringing you an encore episode tonight, meaning that this story originally aired at some point in the past.

It could have been recorded with different equipment in a different location.

And since I'm a person and not a computer, I sometimes sound just slightly different.

But the stories are always soothing and family-friendly.

And our wishes for you are always deep rest and sweet dreams.

Now,

let's get ready to sleep.

I'll read you a story.

It's a place to rest your mind,

like an upturned leaf resting on the surface of a river.

Your mind will follow along with the moving current of my voice and our story,

and before you know it, it will ease you into deep sleep.

I'll read the story twice, and I'll go a little slower.

on the second read.

If you wake in the night, take yourself back into the story,

thinking back through

any bit you can remember.

This interrupts your brain's tendency to cycle through thought and will put you right back in sleep mode.

It is brain training and it might take a bit of practice, so be patient if you're new to this.

Our story tonight is called Yard Sale or Another Man's Treasure.

And it's a story about a neighborhood event on a summer day.

It's also about sidewalk chalk art, a collection of salt and pepper shakers,

and red petunias growing in a flower box.

Now,

it's time to switch off the light.

Set aside anything you've been looking at or working on.

Adjust your pillows and comforter until you feel completely at ease.

I'll be right

here

reading even after you fall asleep.

I'll watch over

so you can rest.

Now take a deep breath in through your nose

and sigh out through the mouth

again breathe in

and out

good

yard sale or

another man's treasure

We'd hatched a plan for this weekend way back in the spring,

when we'd all gotten together to pitch in for a neighborhood cleanup.

Honestly, it had been a lot of fun.

We'd planted flowers and raked the dried leaves out from under the shrubs in the empty lot.

We'd gathered up litter

and helped a few neighbors with chores they couldn't manage on their own.

After a long winter in my house,

I'd enjoyed every minute of it.

The physical exertion,

the conversations with my neighbors,

and the satisfied feeling at the end end of the day

as we surveyed what we'd done.

We'd all stayed in touch after that.

We'd organized a seed swap for the gardeners,

a casual potluck in the park,

and a sidewalk chalk art contest with the neighborhood kids.

That had been fun.

We had given them a theme,

something about summer vacations, and one evening everyone came out

and walked

from one to the other,

admiring all the art.

Some of it was quite simple,

just some stick figures in blue waves.

Some was,

well,

abstract,

probably

done by very little ones, who were just happy to be outside scribbling on the concrete.

And a couple families had gone all out

with Halloween skeletons brought up from the basement, dressed in Hawaiian shirts and board shorts,

propped up beside seascapes that took up a whole yard's worth of sidewalk,

or a lawn full of pup tents and drawings of summer camp,

complete with a fire pit and marshmallows ready to toast.

It had been such fun that we were already planning another for the fall,

and a decoration and light contest for December.

And this weekend was another one of our big ideas.

We were having a neighborhood yard sale and hoping to attract folks from all over the village

to come poke through our old lamps, board games, and casserole dishes.

Last night, I helped put up signs at at the entrance to our neighborhood,

hand-painted ones with metal prongs sandwiched in between the cardboard that we pushed into the grass.

The sale would go from ten to five today,

and we'd even arranged for a local charity to come by with their big truck at the end of the day

to gather all the leftover bits for donation.

Now it was the morning of,

and the whole neighborhood seemed to be getting in on it.

People were setting out card tables in their driveways,

arranging their inventory on storage shelves in their garages.

And a few enterprising kids were setting up a lemonade stand by the edge of the park.

Some households had lots to sell, with old bicycles and bed frames and buffet tables lining their sidewalks,

and others only had a few items up for grabs.

I was in the latter category, and a friend down the street had offered me space in her own garage

so I didn't have to sit alone with my crate of old records,

my collection of kitschy, salt, and pepper shakers,

and my well-intended but never used snowshoes.

My things were piled into my little red wagon, and I set off down the street.

And as I was in no hurry, I decided to do a little browsing on my way there.

I pulled my wagon up in front of a yard full of comic books.

This neighbor was wise.

She'd set out a few beanbag chairs under a big beach umbrella beside the racks of comics,

which I'm sure would prove tempting to more than a few customers.

She also had lots of books, and I flipped through a photo book

showing snow-capped mountains and wild landscapes.

I was getting to know my neighbors as I walked from driveway to driveway.

The next yard was full of sports equipment,

skis and skateboards,

a volleyball net and posts rolled up in a long box,

and a whole table full of softball mitts and bats.

Across the street,

I perused a beautiful collection of dollhouses,

all made by hand.

I looked in the tiny windows to spy the dining table laid for dinner,

the grandfather clock beside the stairs seeming to tick,

and a playroom with its own dollhouse, a minuscule replica of the one I was admiring.

Gosh, my neighbors were interesting.

Traffic was beginning to pick up,

cars stopping here and there,

and some bargaining going on in nearly every driveway.

I tugged on the handle of my wagon

and meandered a little more purposely toward my friend's sale.

The house kitty cornered to hers was one I'd always loved.

It had a broad front porch

that

you'd want to sit on every summer evening,

maybe even when it was raining to smell the fresh air and listen to the drops coming down.

I'd helped here along with a few others during that spring cleanup

to take the storm windows down from their hooks and store them in the garage.

And I was so happy to see the man who lived in this house out on his porch enjoying the day with all of us.

We'd planted bright red petunias in his flower boxes,

and they stood out sharply against the white collabbered siding.

They were cascading over the edge of their boxes now,

with lots of pretty blooms.

I stopped to chat with him from the sidewalk,

asking if he was planning on doing some shopping today.

He said he liked to watch from the porch swing,

and also that he had his own item to sell.

He gestured to the upright piano visible through his front window.

He said he didn't play much any more,

but that it was a shame to let it sit and fall out of tune.

I promised to spread the word,

thinking that I would keep a look out

for a few wide boards to help move it down the front steps,

and that certainly one of the families around here

would be happy to give it a new home.

We waved goodbye for now,

and I crossed the street to set up my items.

There was a table set aside for me, and I'd brought an old tablecloth

to make my stuff look a little nicer.

I shook it out and spread it over the surface,

and artfully arranged my inventory.

I I set the crate of records on its side

and fanned out the ones I thought might be most of interest to customers.

The salt and pepper shakers were lined up in order from silliest to least hokey,

and my snowshoes had their sale tags facing out.

I was ready for business,

yard sale, or

another man's treasure.

We'd hatched a plan for this weekend way back in the spring

when we'd all gotten together to pitch in for a neighborhood cleanup.

Honestly, it had been a lot of fun.

We'd planted flowers

and raked the dried leaves out from under the shrubs in the empty lot.

We'd gathered up litter

and helped a few neighbors with chores they couldn't manage on their own.

After a long winter in my house,

I'd enjoyed every minute of it.

The physical exertion,

the conversations with my neighbors,

and the satisfied feeling at the end of the day

as we surveyed what we'd done.

We'd stayed in touch after that.

We'd organized a seed swap for the gardeners,

a casual potluck in the park,

and a sidewalk chalk art contest with the neighborhood kids.

That had been fun.

We'd given them a theme

something about summer vacations.

And one evening,

everyone came out and walked from one to the other,

admiring all the art.

Some of it was quite simple

just some stick figures in blue waves.

Some was

well

abstract,

probably done by very little ones, who were just happy to be outside, scribbling on the concrete.

And a couple families had gone all out

with Halloween skeletons brought up from the basement,

dressed in Hawaiian shirts and board shorts, propped up beside seascapes that took up a whole yard's worth of sidewalk,

or a lawn full of pup tents and drawings of summer camp,

complete with a fire pit and marshmallows ready to toast.

It had

such fun

that we were already planning another for the fall,

and a decoration and light contest for December.

And this weekend was another one of our big ideas.

We were having a neighborhood yard sale

and hoping to attract folks from all over the village

to come poke through our old lamps, board games, and casserole dishes.

Last night I'd helped put up signs at the entrance to our neighborhood,

hand-painted ones with metal prongs

sandwiched in between the cardboard

that we'd pushed into the grass

the sale would go from ten

to five to day

and we'd even arranged for a local charity to come by with their big truck at the end of the day

to gather all the leftover bits for donation.

Now

it was the morning of,

and the whole neighborhood seemed to be getting in on it.

People were setting out card tables in their driveways,

arranging their inventory on storage shelves in their garages.

And a few enterprising kids were setting up a lemonade stand by the edge of the park.

Some households had lots to sell

with old bicycles

and bed frames and buffet tables

lining their sidewalks

and others had only a few items up for grabs

I was in the latter category

and a friend down the street had offered me space in her own garage

So I didn't have to sit alone with my crate of old records,

my collection of kitschy, salt, and pepper shakers,

and

my well intended but never used snowshoes.

My things were piled into my little red wagon,

and I set off down the street.

And

as I was in no hurry,

I decided to do a little browsing on my way there.

I pulled my wagon up in front of a yard full of comic books.

Now, this neighbor was wise.

She'd set out a few beanbag chairs under a big beach umbrella beside the racks of comics,

which I'm sure would prove tempting to more than a few customers.

She also had lots of books,

and I flipped through a photo book

showing snow-capped mountains

and wild landscapes.

I was getting to know my neighbors as I walked from driveway to driveway.

The next yard was full of sports equipment,

skis and skateboards,

a volleyball net and posts rolled up a long box,

and a whole table full of softball mitts and bats.

Across the street I perused a beautiful collection of doll houses,

all made by hand.

I looked in the tiny windows to spy the dining table laid for dinner,

the grandfather clock beside the stairs seeming to tick,

and a playroom with its own dollhouse,

a minuscule replica of the one I was admiring.

Gosh, my neighbors were interesting.

Traffic was beginning to pick up,

cars stopping here and there,

and some bargaining going on in nearly every driveway.

I tugged on the handle of my wagon

and meandered a little more purposely toward my friend's sail.

The house, kitty corner to hers,

was one I'd always loved.

It had a broad front porch

that you'd want to sit on

every summer evening,

maybe even when it was raining,

to smell the fresh air

and listen to the drops coming down.

I'd helped here, along with a few others,

during that spring cleanup,

to take the storm windows down from their hooks

and store them in the garage.

And I was happy to see the man who lived in this house

out on his porch,

enjoying the day with all of us.

We planted bright red petunias in his flower flower boxes,

and they stood out sharply against the white clabbered siding.

They were cascading over the edge of their boxes now

with lots of pretty blooms.

I stopped to chat with him from the sidewalk,

asking if he was planning on doing some shopping today.

He said he liked to watch from the porch swing,

and also that

he had his own item to sell.

He gestured to the upright piano,

visible through his front window.

He said he didn't play much any more,

but that it was a shame to let it sit and fall out of tune.

I promised to spread the word,

thinking that I would keep a lookout

for a few wide boards to help move it down the front steps

And that certainly one of the families around here

would be happy to give it a new home.

We waved goodbye for now

And I crossed the street to set up my items.

There was a table set aside for me

and I'd brought an old tablecloth

to make my stuff look a little nicer.

I shook it out

and spread it over the surface

and artfully arranged my inventory.

I set the crate of records on its side

and fanned out the ones I thought might be most

of interest

to customers.

The salt and pepper shakers were lined up in order from

silliest to least hokey,

and my snowshoes had their sail tags facing out.

I was ready for business.

Sweet dreams.