The stuff goes, the memories stay

We had a rummage sale at my parents' house today. After experiencing it from the seller's point of view, I must report that the phenomenon is incredible. Within moments of opening the garage door, vehicles of all kinds parked and rushed to check out our items. The busiest time was before 9 a.m. I know that I shouldn't be awed by the number of people who have arisen in the wee hours on a Saturday morning to find a few bargains, but I couldn't help but think to myself, "Who are these people?" throughout the whole process. Don't get me wrong -- I have nothing against rummage sale shoppers. In fact, I'm very thankful for them. I'm thankful for the lady who spent $40 on Star Trek toys, black lights, and tacky dorm room decorations. I'm thankful for the guy who bought Dad's table saw. I'm thankful for the 10 year-old kid who bought a $1.00 typewriter and a $2.00 plastic poker chip rack.

I'm also thankful for the time that I had to bond with my parents while we reminisced about the last time we used a lot of the items we sold. The title of this post really rings true -- the memories aren't going anywhere. Now, if I can just get my mom to let go of that painted snowman rock. Just kidding.

Tomorrow will be another exciting day. I'm attempting to run a half marathon (13.1 miles) in less than two hours. Can I do it? We'll soon find out!