Sailing is a dangerous sport for Heidi Esther. Though she’s recovering from her sorted past, can she now enjoy it? Or will her differences with her wife ruin it for good? For Part 2, the conclusion, click here!
I have a confession.
A dozen years ago, this summer, I had an addiction. Toward the end of every week, I’d get excited. Ready for my first hit. The adrenaline high coursing through my veins. I dreamt of it. I knew, as long as I was patient, it would come.
By Friday morning at seven, it was go-time. Sometimes Daddy wasn’t even awake. My two toddlers and I were like quiet and efficient mice. I buckled them into their toddler seats, cranked up the sing-a-long CD, and drove to Dunkin’ Donuts.
Three egg wraps, one large hazelnut coffee, and 24 munchkins later, we were ready. Yes, I am ashamed to admit I bribed my kids with food while I did this. But a momma’s gotta do what a momma’s gotta do.
I start in a suburb of our corn-fed town. High-end cookie-cutter houses and a new school in progress. Plenty of younger families. Easy pickins. I hand each child a munchkin, because this part requires patience.
I look for signs, circle the neighborhood, and park the minivan on the street.
“Okay, kids, you get one munchkin now, and one after, if you are good and quiet, okay?” I said, hardly able to contain myself. Each of my blondies nods in approval, with wide powdered-sugar smiles on their faces.
I do a little happy dance in my seat, recheck my diaper bag and get us out of the van. I lead them onto a sidewalk that’s been recently edged with no traces of weeds. Barbie, the younger, starts skipping ahead. Jonathan holds my hand and keeps my pace. We get to the corner. And that’s when I know where to go.
A cluster of colorful garage sale signs meets my gaze.
We find overalls! Little People! Bubble machines! Kitchen gadgets! And even new nail polish remover! We dream in possibility. I ask questions to my kids, like…
“Do you think this Care Bear would get along with your My Little Ponies, Barbie?” and “Jonathan, what do you think about a Magic School Bus book?” And “How do you think this thing slices potatoes into fries?” I ask and ponder. And dream.
After the munchkins are gone, we head home, triumphant. We clean our new-to-us stuff and beam with pride over our little treasure pile. By mid-afternoon, we crash from our adrenaline-filled morning.
Twelve Years and One Pandemic Later
It is an overcast Saturday morning in June. My wife and I are in the car, heading south. To the same cookie-cutter subdivision I haunted those many summers ago. My heart pounding in my chest, the closer we get. I don a Star Wars mask, even though I’m vaccinated. The munchkins and egg wraps, replaced by beans and rice. The large coffee, replaced by half-caff and oat milk. My diaper bag, replaced by my phone and small piece of paper. A list of items we’re hoping to find.
“Wow, when’s the last time we did this?” I ponder.
“Geeze, at least a few years,” my wife responds. Yes, while it’s true I’ve kicked my garage sale addiction, I do enjoy it once in a while. I am happy to report that garage sailing is now in my “healthy relationship” category. Largely due to my work in CoDa. But that’s a whole other story. Back to this one.
We follow the signs, drive by some sales, and triangulate our parking spot. My wife and I hold hands, commenting on how little the neighborhood has changed.
“This is so exciting!” I exclaim. I do a happy wiggle at the entrance of the driveway.
Something big, newish, and shiny attracts my attention right away.
“Oh my god, Stacey, why don’t we get a toaster oven? Barbara loves making toast!” I ask.
“First, Barbara loves making toast on the stovetop. Second, we don’t have any room. What appliance are you going to throw away?” she responds as automatic as a cash register printing out a receipt.
I stop in mid-thought.
“OK, fine. Be a party pooper. It was a thought.” I say.
I move on. A pair of white leather foot-rest storage pods attracts my eye. They aren’t cracked at all, with no major ketchup stains.
“Check these out, Stacey. We could get one each for the kids – they go with their rooms – and they could store some stuff in there as a bonus!” I say, proud of myself for such a find.
“They don’t have the space. And Barbara mostly hangs on her bed.” Stacey says, giving me another cash register receipt.
“She could put some of her stuffies in there,” I insist. But Stacey is one step ahead of me.
“She already has two containers of stuffies, and…” she steps over to look at the price. “There’s no way I’m paying twenty dollars for each of these,” she concludes.
I throw my hands up.
“Why are you being the garage sale police today?” I ask, not in my nicest tone. Stacey gives me the look. You know – the look that lets me know I’m gonna be in wife trouble if I keep it up. I take a couple deep breaths.
“Okay, can we go to the next sale?” I ask.
We meander a couple houses away. I steer clear of all large items and head to the kitchen section.
“Hey, these are great, and they are only twenty-five cents each! I’m gonna get six!” I say, relieved that I found something. Yes! No more wobbly plates for us!
