A few years ago, I went to a training by a lady named Ruby Payne. She is reportedly an expert in studying the poor class and gives insight to understanding poverty. When I first took this class I was a fairly new teacher and I remember being fascinated by what I learned. I wanted to share it, so I excitedly told my dad I had been to this great training, and had learned this fabulous stuff from an expert in poverty. His response was, “You’re pretty much an expert in poverty too, ain’t ya?” He’d lived it himself, and really didn’t care what she had to say.
In Ruby Payne’s book, she has a short test to take. You check things off that you can do, for example, open a checking account, order from a French menu, bail someone out of jail. Then you tally up your checkmarks, and you discover which social class you could survive in: poverty, middle class, or wealthy.
Among the items I checked that I was able to do was “move in half a day.”
I must confess, I could no longer check that one. Back when I took the test, I practically owned nothing. I was a single gal, living in a one bedroom house and had to hang my clothes on a line to dry. It would’ve been easy with a few friends and a couple truckloads to get all my possessions out of one house and into another in a very short amount of time.
We started the moving process five weeks ago. A matter of fact, I was in the throes of packing my kitchen cabinets the day I received the phone call telling me my dad had died. Boxes of plates and dishes sat abandoned for a week while we dealt with the stuff one must deal with to bury a loved one. When we returned from Oklahoma, I resumed life and work, and the following week we began moving. There are still boxes to unpack at my new house, boxes to load at my old house, and dumpsters to fill down my alley.
Today I had a garage sale. I have too much stuff. Don’t we all? Aren’t we just a bunch of spoiled rotten Americans?
Here’s a little trivia to gnaw on.
The average size American home in 1950 was 983 square feet compared to 2,349 square feet in 2006. Interesting? Yes, I think so.
My garage sale turned out pretty good for me, but I had some tough decisions to make while preparing for it. Should it stay or should it go? After all, we have moved to a smaller home with practically no storage at all. So I had to say good-bye to some old “friends”.
It seems that I get sentimentally attached to my stuff. I had a little pink tea set that my oldest brother bought me probably 12 years ago. I’ve held onto it because it’s one of the few things I’ve received from him. But as I was sorting through my crap and dealing with the mental banter of keep it, sell it, keep it, sell it, keep it, sell it; these thoughts occurred to me: 1) My brother doesn’t remember giving this to me. 2) He didn’t even purchase it himself 3) He gave my sister or my mom 20 bucks in an airport once and said “Buy Angel something.” 4) It was probably the only thing in the airport gift shop under 20 bucks 5) Look how dusty it is, it’s just something else to clean.
Those thoughts made my decision much easier. I put it in the garage sale, but I didn’t sell it. Actually I gave it away to my realtor aunt who dropped by to put a for sale sign in the yard. She said when she got home she would put my name on the bottom of it so I could have it back someday!!
I hope she at least dusts it first.