So, we had a yard sale Saturday.
Actually, our whole neighborhood had a yard sale, and we participated.
The big neighborhood yard sale is an annual tradition in our neighborhood, the Old Greenwood Village. It’s as much of a neighborhood tradition as the annual Halloween parade, Bill Sligh hanging giant Easter eggs in the trees for Easter and me almost burning Ted Langley’s house down shooting fireworks every July 4.
Basically, one Saturday every spring, a dozen or more families in our neighborhood will haul out all of their old stuff and put it on the lawn so that other people from around town can come see if they might want it.
Rummaging through other people’s old stuff, that’s really what a yard sale is, right?
Despite the fact we participated in Saturday’s neighborhood yard sale, I’ve never been a yard sale fan.
It just never crosses my mind. I’ve never been relaxing after work on a Friday evening and thought to myself, “You know what I want to do in the morning? I want to get up before the sun rises and ride around town and hang out in a stranger’s front yard and look at their old shirts.
“I mean, sure, I could get a brand new shirt at Old Navy for $5, but what I really want is some random guy’s old bowling shirt from 1982 that smells like Schlitz and unfiltered Camels.”
Still, you often hear stories -- more like urban legends -- of people who go to yard sales and find the most amazing stuff. You know, the guy who claims he went to a yard sale and found Joe DiMaggio’s rookie baseball card on the bottom of an old shoebox filled with buttons and bottle caps.
We’ve all known that guy (or gal).
“You’ll NEVER guess what I found when I was out at the yard sale,” they’ll say. “I was rummaging through a big ol’ crate of empty cereal boxes and expired condoms when, lo and behold, I came across the Ark of the Covenant. Yes, the actual Ark of the Covenant, which contained the tablets upon which the Ten Commandments were inscribed. Can you believe it? Lady sold it to me for $2. Oh, I also got a pair of Bill Clinton’s cuff links and a bong with a picture of Papa Smurf on it.”


LAST WEEK, WE STARTED GETTING ready for Saturday’s neighborhood yard sale. And by “we started getting ready,” I mean my wife pulled out all the old stuff she wanted to get rid of while I watched Braves games and monster movies.
The first thing my wife gathered up to sell in the yard sale was curtains. And, brother, let me tell you, we have plenty of curtains. My wife has been a curtain fiend through the years. She’s bought enough curtains to adorn every window in Greenwood, and half of Waterloo.
We’ve got closets full of curtains. Rooms full of curtains. Heck, I had to build an additional 1,500-square-foot, 3-bedroom home in our backyard just to house all the curtains.
And not just curtains, but curtain accessories, too. She almost made me choke on my orange juice one morning when she proudly and excitedly proclaimed she had found “the biggest rod on the Internet.” After I picked myself up off the floor, she explained she was referring to a CURTAIN rod, one that would stretch across our entire sunroom.
As she was gathering up things to sell in the yard sale, my wife held up a big ceramic bowl that had the word “TRAINOR” painted on the side.
“Do you think anyone would buy this?” she asked me.
“Um, it says ‘TRAINOR’ on it,” I replied.
“I know, but somebody might buy it,” she said.
“OK, put it out there,” I said, defeated. “Maybe my uncle, Ray Trainor, will happen by and need a nice ceramic bowl.”
I know, I know. I’m being too hard on yard sales.
Perhaps it would make you feel better to know I’m actually quite fond of jockey lots, which are really just slightly larger yard sales, only with more bootleg DVDs.
Plus, I guess you really don’t know what you might find in a yard sale.
Legend has it that a lady over in Ninety Six went to a yard sale recently and found the original Federalist Papers stuffed in a box of used pantyhose. She bought the papers, a vial of Michael Jackson’s blood and a Garfield coffee mug for $1.50.

Trainor is the senior staff writer at the Index-Journal. Contact him at 864-943-5650; email ctrainor@indexjournal.com. You can follow him on Twitter @IJCHRISTRAINOR. Views expressed in this column are those of the writer only and do not represent the newspaper’s opinion.