We started a thorough cleaning out of the garage to make room for boxing up our house as we are about to put it up for sale.
We are planning to move only a few miles up the road, but we are going through 13 years of accumulation in our house and packing like we are moving to a different life.
If we have read all those books, why take them with us? We’ll want to read new books in our new home.
If I didn’t wear those pants for the past five years and the fabric has a big faded line from the hanger, I probably no longer need them in my new home.
It baffles my husband and my neighbors that we can make these decisions only when faced with moving but find no motivation to do this otherwise.
I have been watching the home-buying and -selling shows for years. I am addicted to these shows, and now I’m getting to put into practice all the tips I learned, such as: Move all the unsightly furniture out to make room for potential buyers to see how well they will fit in your house.
As I tackle the sorting and cleaning, I am faced with the proverbial elephant in our house. The elephant lurks deep in the recesses of the garage, a piece of furniture, large, foreboding and suffering from my days of stencil mania.
My stenciling phase ended about 18 years ago because no one truly could endure the horrible creations I was making. I stenciled the bathroom tiles, every ceiling of every room, the stairwell, the baby furniture, a complete set of chairs. When a decorating phase takes hold of a person, it can be relentless.
The elephant is the last surviving relic from that fun home-decorating time period. Now the elephant sits in the darkest corner of the garage, holding toxic chemical bottles on its shelves.
“What is it,” My neighbor asked as we dragged it out of the garage.
I open its doors to reveal the oak inlaid panels that escaped my paintbrush.
“I believe it’s a buffet cupboard,” I said.
Her mouth fell open when she saw the beautiful interior.
I announced I was donating it to the thrift store. I imagined they would strip the paint and make some money from selling it.
I put the elephant on the porch with a cheap desk make of cardboard from Office Max and a bunch of old books.
The thrift store truck came and went, leaving my elephant behind on the porch with a note tapped to it: “Sorry, we can’t take this.”
Pathetic really. I hung my head.
My neighbor wandered over and helped me drag it back into the garage.
I was grumbling the whole way. How could they not see the value? This could sell for more than $600 if only someone would strip it back to it’s original splendor.
Tsk, tsk, what a crazy thing for the thrift store to pass this up and take the cheap cardboard desk worth $25.
Then I heard myself and realized.
It was an “Antiques Roadshow” epiphany.
I would strip the elephant and either keep it myself or sell it for its value.
I had discovered something truly valuable but completely disguised right in my own home. It’s not the thrift store’s fault that they couldn’t see the value. I, too, suffered from the same blindness.
Sarri Gilman is a freelance writer living on Whidbey Island. You can e-mail her at features@heraldnet.com.
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