I always contend that I am not a garage-saler, yet I am often forced to attend them with my friends.  We can be driving along yacking about nothing in particular when I'll suddenly find myself winged against the passenger-side car door due to a sudden and unexpected left-hand turn suggested by a hand-written garage sale sign.

Melanie was home this weekend and we were headed to the Minneapolis Institute of Art when I found myself in this situation.  Twice.  And although I found the first garage sale functional, the second one, located on Lyndale Avenue in South Minneapolis, was an event.

The setting was perfect.  My favorite Lyndale Avenue tree was doing its best to provide a pleasing environment and the products were delightful.  We read a few lines from a collection of Longfellow's poems retrieved from this box of vintage books.

And unlike a visit to the museum, we could pick them up and admire them.  We could appreciate the heft and smell of them.  I don't like the smell of "must" in my home, but I like it at a garage sale.

Melanie bought her friend, Tom, a set of opera glasses.  How many people even know someone who would appreciate a gift like that?  And where, but at a garage sale would you even come across such a thing?  OK.  So I guess I get it a little bit.  There is often a jewel sitting there waiting to be discovered.

I don't think I'll ever become a real garage-saler, but I suppose I can be supportive of my friends' hobbies.  Even if I don't always see the beauty of a thing, occasionally my camera will.

Photos posted in the MINNEAPOLIS PHOTO ALBUM.