I foolishly planned a yard sale. I even hornswoggled Dear Richard into the idea. I’m an idiot.

For the past three or four years, we’ve been donating our worthy goods to worthy charities. Simple. Easy. Sensible. Then one day I found a bunch of little things I don’t use and put them in a box for donation. Thereafter, every time I was in a closet, a kitchen drawer, or the garage and found something useless, I’d add it to the box. Hmm.

But planning a sale was overwhelming. A truly organized sale would require tackling our jam-packed garage, which was armpit deep in “stuff.” Good stuff. Outdated stuff. Never-used stuff. Big stuff. Small stuff. Memory stuff. And omigod, Christmas stuff, Christmas stuff, Christmas stuff.

Dear Richard was informed that all those tools and tool kits that he doesn’t use were history. He didn’t want to part with them. Then I asked him about when he last used his ratchet set, Quick Grip clamps, or two-ton jacks. He shrugged. He couldn’t remember the last time, if ever. Some sets were brand new. Hey, I know how men feel about their tools. So just to illustrate to him how important this was, I agreed to offer up my entire silk flower collection.

My niece, Kate, is a wonderful person. Although she lives in Rochester, she volunteered to help us prepare for the sale. She rightly reasoned we’d need assistance hauling, tugging and lifting. I tried to warn her that the garage was overstuffed because we have no basement. We desperately needed organization. She must have thought to herself, “How bad could it be?” She drove from home, had a quick lunch and stepped into the garage. At first glance, she uttered, “Holy crap!” followed by “Seriously?” I don’t think it ever occurred to her that people she is related to could have so much stuff.

Kate’s home in Rochester always looks as if it’s staged and ready for sale. No collections. No clumps of family pictures. No clutter. She did admit that when people enter their pristine home they ask, “Where’s your stuff?” They don’t have “stuff.” They have order, cleanliness and peace. Three conditions that equal sanity. Which is why she was crazed in our garage. And yet, she tackled it.

Kate is a newly retired supply chain executive. She’s organized and she could have been ruthless. But every time she questioned my reason for keeping something, she gave in out of pure kindness.

Kate not only stayed three days of hard work, she returned days before the sale for more drudgery. I managed to complete some of her assignments, but I didn’t get everything done. She worked 12 hours on Wednesday and 14 on Thursday, her final day. Who does this? Friday morning of the sale she stayed long enough to help us finish setting up – in the rain. I thought of dropping to my knees with thanks and begging her to stay. Then I remembered that my replaced knees don’t allow that.

This year, October was the perfect autumn month, all gorgeous weekends. But I had made two travel commitments – Maine and New York City. Plus, I needed lotsa prep time. The only available weekend was Halloween weekend. What could go wrong? The weather had been so lovely. But Mother Nature exacts her payments, and I guess we owed her a fortune.

The forecast all week was for rain and high winds, followed by driving rain and wind gusts up to 50 mph for Friday. Temps in the high 30s, low 40s. Early in the week we begged and borrowed pop-up tents and tables. We gathered four tents, seven 6-foot tables and seven card tables. We needed them all. Our dear friends and neighbors even delivered everything and set up the tents.

Friday morning was as advertised – rain, wind, high 30s. Both Dear Richard and I got soaked stocking the tents. Despite the weather, the driveway quickly filled with well-prepared shoppers. We were outdoors all day, unable to get dry or warm up. The constant wind required that we cover the long book tables with tarps held down with bricks. The gusts blew steadily until mid-afternoon, when an enormous 50 mph whirlwind lifted the book tent and sent it soaring sideways across the yard. Into the upper reaches of the birch tree. That was fun.

When we finally headed indoors from the long day, I was February bone cold. I slept in jammies, socks, and my robe under three blankets.

All in all, it was a good sale, despite the typhoon. We now have spaces – organized spaces. And the proven love of a dear niece. In my will, I’m leaving her my vacuum, the Swiffer, and all my Christmas “stuff.” She’ll be so happy.

Marcy O’Brien is a Warren resident. Send comments to moby32@hotmail.com.