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Saturday, November 28, 2015

Forty-One

My birthdays are close to outnumbering the American Presidents. 

The big achievement of the day was the safe delivery of the gargantuan mahogany table (the Duncan Phyfe-style behemoth that had been sitting in my garage for a year) to the consignment shop where I have my booth. They have 30 days to sell it – after that point I shall donate it, as I can't bear to have the thing returned to me.  It was not one of my more intelligent garage sale purchases.  I think I'm getting much better in determining what is salable and what is not; that was certainly a "what not to do" learning experience, as it required a large capital outlay and proved awkward to transport. People are far more apt to spring for a piece of jewelry or a wall mirror than for an item that requires a room of its own and a moving van to get it thence. Nowadays I'm not likely to spend six dollars without carefully considering whether the item can be quickly flipped into a profit--a year ago, I was willing and able to spend more on chancy investments. 

My mom bought me a new cordless drill for my birthday. It's the gift that keeps on giving, as all the drilling I've been doing is over at her and John's house, where I've installed a shelf in the laundry room and blinds on every window except in the garage. I considered asking for a grinder, too, but decided I'd wait until the garage is considerably less full of clutter. There are three heavy punching bags, a giant heavy bag hanging stand, two (or three) air compressors, three filing cabinets, a tent, two folding tables, seven folding chairs, multiple ladders, and what I was told are kayak racks in there, not to mention all my lamp parts, two rolling tool chests, and assorted small sundries. Some of it is mine, some Mums', some my brother Bob's. Thank God that table is gone, but there are mountains to be moved before anyone can dream of parking a car in there. Not that that will ever happen--I like having a workshop.

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