Today, I had a yard sale.
It was long planned, but quickly executed. Several events over the past few weekends had left my plans waylaid. Yet this time, I was determined that it was going to happen. It had to happen. And so it did...
I was selling old things. Things from a previous marriage, untouched since 2009 - 2010. It might as well have been another century. The sensation of feeling nothing for a thing, yet feeling all sorts of stirred up emotions simultaneously was strange. The memories were vaporous, but still real. Like opening a box of ghosts.
This morning, I woke up early and made coffee before setting up. Various neighbors came up through the day, some even bought things. My memories began to walk away, sold to someone who was going to make use of them, unaware of the turmoil that they might have witnessed. Books were carried away, the new owners unaware of the moments of inspiration and thought that had come from them.
I just sat on my front porch and said hello to people. Every now and then I would collect money and play my guitar. I kept telling myself to enjoy the weather and the moment; the feeling of letting go. But really, I couldn't wait until it was over. It was freeing to get rid of the stuff. Yet remembering was harder than I had hoped.
I hope that I'll have to remember less when it's over.