Just this past Saturday I spent an entire day chasing estate sales with very little to show for it in terms of photos or stories to share with you.
I suppose you could say that boring houses imply boring lives, and you might be right.
There's nothing particularly funny -- or interesting -- about somebody's devotion to one religion or another.
No one visits these sales -- or this blog, for that matter -- eager to find old televisions and broken-down furniture. And yet, sometimes that's all there is.
I drove all the way to Schaumburg for this sale, only to discover yet another bed piled high with musty afghans, faded promotional t-shirts and used linens.
You know what I just remembered? It was in a
townhouse complex. Suddenly, it all makes sense.
I suppose you could say that boring houses imply boring lives, and you might be right.
There's nothing particularly funny -- or interesting -- about somebody's devotion to one religion or another.
No one visits these sales -- or this blog, for that matter -- eager to find old televisions and broken-down furniture. And yet, sometimes that's all there is.
I drove all the way to Schaumburg for this sale, only to discover yet another bed piled high with musty afghans, faded promotional t-shirts and used linens.
You know what I just remembered? It was in a townhouse complex. Suddenly, it all makes sense.
