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Monica Bielanko
A chronicle since 2005 of my marriage & move to Brooklyn in my twenties; becoming a mother in my thirties; moving to Pennsylvania and learning to amicably coparent after divorce in my forties while living 3 doors down from my ex-husband in a small country town.
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Monday
Sep072009

I'm Rich!  Bitch!

I am in full on yard sale mode. EVERYTHING MUST GO! The fact that Miss Violet is scooting around the house faster than I can crunch down a plate of nachos Cookie Monster-style is even inspiring me to get rid of our rickety old bookshelves. Serge is certain of imminent death if she pulled down one of the shelves and he's probably right. Last week he was desperate to buy those thingamajigs that cover plugs so your child won't electrocute herself. Thing is, I can't even find the sockets in our old house so how is Violet going to track one down? There is one plug in the kitchen. ONE! And it's, get this, in the spice cabinet. I've tried and tried to figure out how that came about and I'm stymied.

So yeah. The Bookshelves of Certain Death. We bought them during a trip to Amish Country in Pennsylvania when we lived in Brooklyn. Although they store our books, I hate them. I want to see walls again. Nice, clean walls. I've left Serge to sorting our books into two piles: Keepers and Yard Salers. I figure a buck a book is a pretty good deal. There are some great books in there but, hell, I've read them. Only good they are to me now is for showing off to visitors to pretend like I'm into book learnin' and such and for making me feel like my walls are caving in on me like the giant garbage compactor in Star Wars. Like the Dixie Chicks, I need WIDE OPEN SPACES. Or as big as I can get in my leetle bungalow, anyway.

Also? I have some exciting news for you. I am going to be rich! RICH, I tell you! Some time ago Serge and I acquired a small table from a yard sale or some such place like that. Maybe he dragged it home with the giant, plastic Santa Claus and the old school desk he scavenged from one of the houses he is fixing up. Or maybe it was the time he brought home a broken lamp and about 12 dozen roses from an old rosebush in the front yard of a fixer-upper. We slid the aforementioned table into our garage along with all the rest of our Important Crap and forgot about it.

Now, this table, it's kind of fancy-like in a most unusual way. It's got hand-painted blue and white tile inlaid across the top and it just seems so, well, fancy. So I got to looking at it while readying my Important Crap for The Yard Sale. I turned it over and spotted all this finely hand-crafted blah blah blah stuff written in calligraphy (I know! FANCY!) on the bottom. Turns out its from this Maitland-Smith company who, right this minute, is celebrating 30 years of artisan craftsmanship! So I get to ebaying similar items and they're going for hundreds and thousands of dollars on ebay. Of course, I couldn't find the exact table I own, but maybe that's because mine is so rare, collectors across the globe have been searching for it for decades! In fact, I am certain this is the case. Seriously, these Maitland-Smith folks have the lock on weird furniture for a fortune. Even creepy monkeys and weird lamps are going for $699.99 and the like. Chrissakes! This Maitland-Smith bear umbrella stand is going for a grand! This here plate is going for $369.

I am positive Antiques Road Show experts would tell me I am sitting on a gold mine, I shout at Serge over the phone. We're rich, bitch!

I've got calls in to people. I will let you know if it turns out I can retire now or in three months.