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late and soon, getting and spending

In the circuitous way of modern international communications, I just received the complete tape of Obama’s speech to the White House Press Corps from my friend Lynn in the south of France. I’d already seen his roast of Donald Trump, but this is the whole thing, and it’s a marvel. Canadians, take a look at this brilliant, self-deprecatingly funny and witty and generous man. Then think about our leader attempting the same thing, and weep.

It’s Saturday night, and I can barely move. Spent yesterday getting ready for today’s huge block long garage sale, hauling tons of clothing from the basement, pricing it, stacking it to go out. Then, as a rest, I went to a fundraiser at the Y – an hour-long run-fit class. A lot of fun but hard on the legs.
Leapt out of bed just after 7 this morning; the sale was supposed to begin at 8.30, but people were there and ready to shop at 7.30, pouncing on stuff as it moved out the door. Luckily, my beloved Holly, my daughter’s best friend, came across town at dawn to help me. We got set up, and I soon took off all the price tags I’d put on yesterday. Silly me – I’d affixed what I thought the items were worth, not what people would actually pay, which is about half, or less.
Finally, six hours of perfect weather and salesmanship later, Hols and I called it quits, a few hundred dollars richer and a big load of clothing lighter. After we’d packed up, we, and the others who were selling, simply left a lot of stuff on the street for people to take home, free. The piles of chachkas that Jean-Marc left on the sidewalk had gone in an hour. But the clothes I left hanging on the fence are still there. My clothes! Not good enough even for my neighbours from Regent’s Park, who are the poorest people in Canada!
It was today’s community feeling I relished – chatting with my neighbours, looking at their stuff as they looked at mine. Monique next door bought one of my dresses for $10, and then I found a great office chair in her pile and bought it – for $10. I now seem to have, in my house, a big brown betty teapot, a plastic file cabinet on wheels, a bunch of cloth anemones and an old oak file-box that were not here before. We then went down to visit Jean-Marc and Richard, who organized today’s sale, and sat in the sun having drinks and barbecued sausages with others from the street and their various dogs.
How I love my neighbourly neighbours. Methinks you have heard this before.
But my legs hurt.

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About Beth

I began keeping a journal at the age of nine. Nearly fifty years later, I started this online journal, sharing reflections, reviews, updates, and the occasional secret.

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