Invasion of the estate pickers – part 5: you forgot your numbers

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Note to the estate sale pickers who camped out overnight on our street: #s 23, 26 and 56, you forgot your temporary numbers in my front yard. Gee, I hope you don’t need them.

And to the man who wandered out from behind Wayne’s garage at 6 AM: just so you know, sneaking behind a garage for a pee is not only rude and unsanitary, it’s not private.

Related articles

• The estate sale buyers arrive about 14 hours early to pick through Wayne’s stuff (notesfromthefunnyfarm.wordpress.com)
• Invasion of the estate pickers – part 2 (notesfromthefunnyfarm.wordpress.com)
• Invasion of the estate pickers – part 3: It’s time for you to go home. Now. (notesfromthefunnyfarm.wordpress.com)
• The invasion of the estate pickers – part 4: A look at the bigger picture (notesfromthefunnyfarm.wordpress.com)

The invasion of the estate pickers – part 4: A look at the bigger picture

Now my neighbor's house will be sold. After reading my blog, I can't imagine anyone would want to be my neighbor.

As you know, I – and several of my neighbors – were annoyed, inconvenienced and a little ticked off this week when a horde of estate sale pickers, buyers and collectors descended on our little street for the estate sale of our neighbor, Wayne. Because I’m a writer and blogger, I came up with a lot of article ideas, but while working on queries I blogged, off the cuff, and from the heart.

If you read daily, you saw that I had fun, and then I was just super annoyed after 2 1/2 days of people sleeping in their cars on the street, parking willy nilly, and then telling me that it’s only for a day or so and that I should basically suck it up.

By the last day, I was ready to never see an estate sale sign again.

Another “late bloomer” success story – which gives me hope, again

Not long ago I stumbled upon a popular series of books by Lilian Jackson Braun, “The Cat Who …” did just about everything under the sun. I don’t normally like series books but I’ve changed my tune, falling in love with these feline-fueled mysteries.

And today I learned that author Lilian Jackson Braun was a late blooming success!

Lilian Jackson  Braun wrote the first book in the series, “The Cat Who Read Backwards” in 1966, followed by two more novels, in 1967 and 1968. When the first book hit the shelves, Ms. Braun was 53! And then … she didn’t publish another book for 18 years.

She spent many years as a lifestyle writer and editor at The Detroit Free Press, retiring in 1978 . In 1986, she resumed the series, going on to publish dozens more best sellers. Her final book was published in 2007, she died last year at 97 – world renowned and beloved success.

Stories like this give me hope; at 47 I often feel like life had flown by and I’ve done nothing with it. But there’s a lot to be said for success later in life. Maybe I haven’t written a book or made a living writing … but stories like this remind me that there’s still time!

Invasion of the estate pickers – part 3: It’s time for you to go home. Now.

One would imagine that people who are smart enough to find estate sale listings on the internet can also obey parking laws. But maybe the laws don't apply to pickers.

As you know, I’ve been following the estate sale next door because I’ve never seen one before, and since it affects me directly I wanted to write as the sale progressed.

As a recap – people started lining up on Wednesday afternoon to sleep in their cars for a sale that started on Thursday morning. ( I buddied up to them (after I called the cops because they were freaking me out, and found out they were estate sale buyers) and spent time talking to them that night and all the next day. I was fascinated and horrified, and by today, I’m disgusted.

The second day of the sale was calmer on the street, at least right off the bat. No one slept overnight that I could tell, although I fully expected it because everything was 50% off today. I went over to see if I could pick up something that would remind me of Wayne, something he’d told me a story about, something I knew he’d get a kick out of me having on a shelf. I picked up three old history books, nothing special or of value, but Wayne and I were both trivia fans, history lovers, and pack rats. I also grabbed his old Kodak Pony camera, although knowing Wayne’s appetite for … er …. girlie magazines and his penchant for nudist camps, I’m not sure I want to know what photos have been taken with that camera.

The folks running the estate sale ranged in personality from very aloof (one might even say cold) to fantastically friendly. They were, for the record, all very, very nice. But I wouldn’t necessarily invite all of them over for tea, if that makes sense. I imagine, though, they are really good at what they do, since it requires a level of detatchment and objectivity a family (or neighbor) can’t reach. So a business like this needs employees at all ends of the personality spectrum.

But the pickers today? Vultures. They weren’t the professional buyers, scroungers and pickers to go to things like this to supply their businesses. Not that they weren’t without problems. But some of the people today are showing up fantastically well-dressed (furs, suits, driving expensive cars) who completely ignore the parking laws and the people in the neighborhood.

Invasion of the estate pickers – part 2

830 AM: This is the line of cars that camped out overnight, starting at 5 PM on Wednesday. The line goes all the way down our street to the cross street. I'm at the "Y" at the end of our street. Behind me, to my right, cars now line the street at least two blocks. Behind me to my left, cars now line the street and stretch around the curve to the street behind us

It’s not their fault that the sale happened next door to the house where a writer lives – a creatively drained writer looking for story ideas, a writer at home all day with dogs who bark every time a car door opens or someone has a conversation on the street or even walks by the house.

I’m looking for something to write about, and the story came to my front door. In droves. More story ideas than I could write down, more interesting people than have been on my street at one time in a while. It’s been a long time since I cold queried editors, but my plan today is to formulate some story ideas and get to work.

For now, and for my friends and family following on Facebook, here’s what happened so far, informally and off the cuff (and frankly, unedited. I know, I switch from past to present tense. Forgive me. My fingers are frozen and I don’t care as much about the technical aspects right now as I am about making sure I don’t forget the stories):

As blogged about yesterday, folks started lining up at about 5 PM yesterday afternoon in preparation for the estate sale today a Wayne’s house. And as I blogged about yesterday, at first I was freaked out by strangers camping in front of the house. Then I chatted with Dan and Joe (I’ve changed some names as I blog so as not to violate some unwritten estate sale code; trust me, this is big stuff) and  figured I’d look for something fun rather than complain.

We chatted, I gave them my thermometer to check the temperature in their car, and I went to bed. Because I’d now been warned, I knew there was going to be activity so I settled in with dog locked in the room. I slept all night, until I was awakend at 5:54 AM. Apparently someone backed into someone else, and people were out talking about it.

Forgive me for not being sympathetic … but there is a no overnight parking law in our village. Apparently if the person is still in the car, the police don’t consider it parking. And despite that the people are in the cars with engines running, it’s not loitering either. Maybe that will be my next story: small town policing.

Back to the accident. I told the one man to call the police, and asked another to please be quiet because we’re not all up this early in the morning. I tried to be polite, I mean I’d made buddies with some of the folks. But the man – we’ll call him Jackass - didn’t see that. He snapped, he was a jerk. He didn’t want to be my buddy. Could have been the camera I had in my hand.

Forgive me. I only live here.  That you’ve ended up with a fender bender? Think of it as the cost of doing business when you invade a neighborhood and sleep in your car.

Jackass.

My next project: Save Fairport Road Wegmans!

It happens at least once a year: a rumor circulates that the Wegmans in Country Club Plaza on Fairport Road is closing.

Every time shoppers hear it, they panic. We love our Wegmans. Love the small town feel, the friendly employees, the community atmosphere. It’s the only place I know where you can run in to get a gallon of milk, run into the pastor of your church, and then chat with your child’s …soccer coach.

Our Wegmans doesn’t have the flash, sizzle and razzle dazzle of the mega-Wegmans, with their gourmet prepared foods and expansively arranged produce department. Nor do we have the parking problems, anxiety-producing chaos or spotty customer service.

So when I heard this week from someone with an ear inside Wegmans that the Fairport Road Wegmans was closing, and that some employees were already being moved, I called Wegmans and asked for a straight answer. (And then I started a Facebook page!)

I spoke with Jessica in the Consumer Affairs department. After checking with others in her office, she told me no one had heard that our store was closing. I also asked how much advance notice her office might get if our store were closing, and she said she honestly didn’t know.

The truth is that at some point, the rumor will become truth, and when that happens it’s going to be too late to do anything about it. Our community-based grocery store will go the way of the mega-Wegs. Ask yourself: what will you do then? Especially those of you who live within walking distance of a mega-Wegs but come to our store to shop because you like the atmosphere?

If you’re a fan of the Fairport Road Wegmans, NOW is the time to share our support for the store, the employees, and the ability to shop in a calm, non-frentic environment. Now, fellow shoppers, is the time to speak up.

Here are some ways that you can make sure that Corporate Wegmans understands how important the Fairport Road store is to our eastside community. When you contact them:

- Don’t just ask them not to close the store – tell them why they should keep it open, what you like about the small store vs the mega-Wegs.

- Praise the employees, share positive stories, and thank Wegmans for making a commitment to the people in East Rochester and Fairport.

- Make sure you include your name and contact information and ask for a response.

Here are ways you can contact Wegmans:

1) Email Wegmans using the contact page at http://www.wegmans.com/

2) Call Wegmans at Consumer Affairs representatives at 1-800-WEGMANS, ext. 8500-4760, Monday – Friday between the hours of 8AM-5PM EST

3) As often as you can, leave a positive comment card in the suggestion box located at the front of the Fairport Road store. It takes just seconds to fill it out – your comment can be as simple as “Hugh in produce was really helpful” or “Precocious did a great job checking me out today.” Again, be sure to include your name and info and ask for a response.

4) Share your stories about why you love Wegmans Fairport Road store on the “Save Wegmans Fairport Road” Facebook page. Tell us what you love, memories if you worked there, why the store is important to you.

I told Jessica at Consumer Affairs that I’ll be spearheading a grassroots effort to make sure Wegmans knows how important this small store is to our community. I hope you’ll join me!

Invasion of the estate pickers – part 1: The estate sale buyers arrive about 14 hours early to pick through Wayne’s stuff

Cars lined up 14 hours before the estate sale begins. It's not normal to have two grown men sitting in front of your house in a running car for hours. Wouldn't you call the police?

The  truck, with engine running and two men sitting inside, had been parked in front of my house for more than an hour when I decided to call the police. I know there is an estate/household sale scheduled at the neighbor’s house for tomorrow, and I had been warned to expect people to start showing up early – as in maybe after midnight. So it is possible these men in the truck are here for the sale tomorrow. Fourteen hours early. But being cautious … ok, and cranky … I ask the ER PD to check it out so that I can at least know for sure if these are pickers or criminals.

Because we have had criminals sitting out in running cars on our street before. I am not making that up.

When the police arrive, I learn that apparently it’s bad form for me to come out to talk to the guys at the same time they do; one of the officers says it’s confrontational. Oops. But I want to know if this is something I need to be worried about. The men in the car call out that they aren’t the only ones parked here, that there were four or five other people already lined up, too.

You’ve got to be kidding me.

I have a horrible, horrible nightmare about Scout

If you're going to wake up from a horrible nightmare, Bandit is the dog you want to comfort you. (This was while we were snacking on goldfish crackers, just before we went to sleep.)

I had a dream last night that I was lying in bed, tossing crackers to Bandit (which isn’t too far from reality, since not long before we’d been snacking on goldfish crackers in bed) when all of the sudden Scout jumped up to get some treats. I said, “Hey, wait, you’re not supposed to be here!” And Scout replied, “I don’t wanna go yet.”

The thing was, in my dream Scout looked terrible. Sick and thin and really rough. It was horrible. I tried and tried to scream – you know how it can be in a dream. Except I apparently started screaming out loud, because I woke to David standing over me trying to rouse me, and Bandit lying across my legs trying to help him. It must have sounded bad for David to get up, because he will occasionally tell me in the morning, “You were yelling in your sleep last night,” but he doesn’t check on me. He says if he hears me and also hears the dogs making a fuss, he’ll know something’s wrong.

When I woke last night, I was gasping for breath and crying hysterically. My God, it was horrible. Horrible, horrible, horrible. Poor Scout. It was this weird mix of wanting him to stay and wanting him to go – stay, because I love him so much, but go, because … well, he’s dead and the Scout that wanted to stay was not my Scout. (This morning it made me think of that movie, “An American Werewolf in London,” where the one guy keeps coming back a little more gruesome than the last time. I don’t want Scout to visit me like that.)

I told David, “I am so not going back to sleep. I’m not ever going to close my eyes again.”

It was really late so I sent him back to bed and Bandit crawled up to lie next to me. I felt really compelled for some reason to pull out my devotional Bible (every couple of years I read through the entire Bible); the Psalm for yesterday reads in part, “…O Lord, heal me, for my bones are troubled; my soul is also greatly troubled …” (Psalm 6: 2,3)

I pulled out a book of crosswords and I did puzzles until I guess I fell asleep with the light on. During the night I must have woken up enough to shut the light off and crawl under the covers. I woke this morning completely exhausted, groggy, and with a splitting headache.

To be honest, I would have been really freaked out by the thought that Scout’s spirit was haunting me – hence the dream - except that Bandit was pretty much unfazed. He clearly wanted to comfort me, but he wasn’t anxious or upset. I know it sounds crazy, but I believe that animals are much more in tune to the spiritual world than we are sometimes. (Remember that time I took Bailey to walk in the cemetery and all she wanted to do was hang around Kali Poulton’s grave?) If Bandit had been acting weird last night – whining or barking or in any other way disturbed – I would have packed up and moved to a hotel.

I don’t know what brought on the dream. I was feeling pretty good yesterday, although I did talk about Scout a few times. But that’s no different than the last few days. All I know is that I DO NOT want to ever have that dream again. In fact, I don’t really want to close my eyes again for a while. I want to think about Scout happy and healthy in heaven, not sick and wasting away as a spirit not ready to leave.

Writer finds success online

NPR’s “All Things Considered” did a story on Amanda Hocking, the bestselling author who found fame and fortune in e-publishing. They called it a Cinderella story – the writer rejected by every agent and publisher she approached, who essentially thumbed her nose at the traditional industry by putting her stories online.

She sold more than a million ebooks, and now the traditional publishers came looking for her. She’s signed a deal with St. Martin’s and her first book, “Switched”, is in stores now.

What I love about the story is that she had the tenacity to keep writing and to find an outlet for her work that generally brought in enough to fill her gas tank before taking off like a rocket. A million dollar rocket.

My favorite part of the story was this:

“It’s still totally unreal when I think about it,” she says. “It feels so weird to be able to just kind of buy things when I want them or need them.” Like a life-size replica of Han Solo encased in carbonite. It cost $7,000 and sits in her “movie room” — otherwise known as the basement.

You know you’ve made it big when you can plop down $7,000 for Han Solo in carbonite and then store him in your basement.

I think I’ll set a goal this year to finish one of Bandit’s books and put it online. If nothing else, it’ll make me feel like I’ve accomplished something, even if I never can afford Han Solo in carbonite. Which is good, because I’ve never really wanted Han Solo in carbonite. See, I’m feeling positive already!

RIP Scout the Wonder Dog

Scout's chasing bubbles in heaven now

On Thursday, January 5th, I posted an update about things here with the dogs, writing, etc. At the time, Scout was still here, although he’d been having some tough times.

I’m sorry to report that yesterday he went to live on God’s Farm in the Sky. It’s still emotional so I’ll let you read Bandit’s account of the last 48 hours. I can’t even look at Scout’s picture without breaking down. And I have enormous guilt over his passing – I should have spent more time with him, I shouldn’t have gone to sleep that last night so I could have spent all of the time with him …. I can’t even go there right now.

But there are things I’d like to tell you about – I just can’t do it now.