On Saturday morning, armed with egg sandwiches and large coffees, Steve, Suze and I arrived at the dusty home to prepare for a full day tag sale. The sale was set to start at 10, but the hard core types arrived at 8:30. 

The first guy who walked into the house was looking for silver and costume jewelry. He had the sculpted eyebrows of someone who spends his evenings at a drag club. He was joined moments later by older woman who was looking for beaded purses. They greeted each other by first names. The pros all know each other. 

By 9:00, we had a full house of people who rifled through Aunt Theresa's belongings without remorse. They had no fear of the horror movie of a basement. The casual shoppers who wandered into the house after seeing the sign in the front lawn were more emotional. They wanted to know about the woman who lived there. They reminded their friends that this is what happens to your stuff when you die. 

The things that sold: bags of yarn and vintage cloth that Aunt Theresa had stockpiled for the end times, old table clothes with lace and embroidery, hats, junk jewelry, art books, baking tins, rolling pins, coats, purses, old liquor bottles, framed art, scarves, a trunk, one wheel chair, salad tongs, Christmas decorations, a bed spread, and one lamp. 

Things that didn't sell: furniture, the piano, silver plated serving platters, glasses, and china. 

Even with all the sales, we still had tons and tons of stuff leftover. We'll have to donate the rest of the stuff to a good cause. There were tea pots from England with the tags still on them. A wing backed chair from EJ Audi. I have no idea how we'll get rid of the piano. 

At the end of the day, we counted up the wad of money. We got a $1,000. If we advertised more and were open for two days, we could have made $2,000, I think, but I had devoted enough time to helping my mom liquidate this home.