You know that drawer (or three) in the bathroom where you toss everything because "it's still good" or "I might use that?"  Now imagine sorting through all the half-full travel sized shampoos, tubes of moisturizer that were going to transform your face, the jumbo refill bottle of hand soap you'd forgotten about and whittling it all down to what will fit in one milk crate.  That's right, we instituted the trunk-of-the-car crate system last night.  But before explaining its brilliant design, I think I need to back up to what precipitates our need for it.

For some time I've been perfecting an idea of my dream lifestyle.  It would include spending ample time with friends and family, lots of writing, encountering different settings and the people who live in them, finding opportunites to be of service to others, being in love.  Instead of associating my mortgage with "a cute vintage bungalow," it had started to feel more like an obligation, one that had to be kept up and fed monthly.  I was loving life in Charlotte--sunny weather, great folks, a flexible schedule.  I stayed up as late as I wanted, made great friends, attended great parties, even wrote a novel!  But when I asked myself the old, "If I could pick any life I wanted...?"   I would go, roam, see what comes.  When my boyfriend came up with the same answer, there was only one question left to ask, "When?" 

Which brings us to the milk crates.  We can fit five in the trunk of our Solara convertible with one skinny cooler.  We've divided them up: books, toiletries, shoes/misc., and one each for clothes.  Anything that doesn't fit was given a new home (hence, the yard sale madness).  As we knock on the doors of all our relatives and old friends this summer, we'll first pop the trunk, grab a few provisions and head in with a duffle bag.  Since we pull out on Saturday, Fred decided we should begin testing our theory.  We packed the crates and are living out of them for the next two days, giving ourselves the chance to recognize if any essentials didn't make it in.  We're taking the perspecitve that this summer's crate living is a warm-up, a stretching exercise in living on less.  We'll hone the skill.  We have to be pros by fall when our hop to Central America will require further purging: the trunk down to two backpacks!

Sell everything, roam, travel and adventure: sounds simple, and only takes a few MONTHS of preparation to untangle yourself and get out the door!  I started with craigslist, thinking I'd just sell the big stuff.  The first set of items I advertise with pride, practically setting up a photo shoot to capture sofa, bookshelf, desk and dresser looking their best.  I build in links to the original product page.  I upload photos, write enticing descriptions and wait...uprepared for the birage of odd email responses.  "Do you have animals because my dogs won't like a couch covered in another dog's scent."  Is someone considering my Thomasville sofa, the one "real" piece of furniture I own (well, used to own) for their dogs to recline on?  One woman wrote to tell me about a series of surgeries she recently had to explain why she'd love to buy my art supplies if I'd cut the price in half.  And all the while, I keep finding things to post.  Those forgotten utility shelves in the attic. Hmmm, I wonder if someone would want this chair?  Do people by electric toothbrushes on Craigslist, it's still in the package!  Many uploads later, I'm getting lazy.  You get one picture of the mini-freezer, after all I only bought in on a whim.  My boyfriend says to my dad one winter, "You get me a deer this year, and I'll haul it home."  My dad's hunter friends got the deer.  We purchased a small freezer, packed it with meat and drove it back home.

I was beginning to feel lighter.  With all the larger items gone, my bungalow house so much roomier.  Honeslty, life is not complicated when you have one chair, one plate, one fork.  Think of all these decisions already made for you each day.  I'd never considered myself a person who has much stuff, until I started organzing for the yard sale.  I gathered tips and had developed several theories of my own for success.  I had a master plan.  Over a $1000 dollars later and with only a small, very respectable pile of unsold items left over, I think I could now write the golden rule book of yard sales.

1. Sort.  Take bags and bags, then some boxes, and a few more bags to Goodwill.  There's a difference between what someone could use, and what someone wants to buy.
2. The trash can is your friend.  There are some things not fit to pass on to others, pitch them!  Yes, that favorite oh so squishy throw pillow you've had since your dorm days, say goodbye.
3. Price everything and price it right.  Do lots of 3 fers.  ($1.00 each, but 3 for $2)  People won't be able to resist taking more of your junk!
4. Lay it all out ahead of time.  Yard sale shoppers are an entirely way too early morning bunch!  Save yourself!  Have the tables full of goods and ready to pull out onto the lawn morning of.  Don't, however, make my mistake.  Tables fit nicely through certain back bedroom doorways when they are broken down and on their sides...not so much when erected and being carried flat! 
5. Get change and have bags - the more they can carry!
6. Observe, you'll see people look at something but pass it up.  When they check out, you can throw it in for a package deal.
7. Enjoy!  You won't believe the variety of people who will come through and it's great fun talking to them.

So it's official.  I'm down to what will fit in my trunk, I'm off, almost.  Readying the house for the new tenants is another story