5am and I was showering in the dark lest the bathroom light give me away before I could gobble a granola bar and open the garage door for a day of bargaining and bartering over my extraneous worldly goods. That's how it was in my previous state of residence. Looking out the window I'd see the red glow of the parking lights of the professionals and earlybirds awaiting the slightest sign of life.

So, understand my first Minnesota garage sale started with me almost in tears when no one showed up until 9am. I worried that all my work was in vain. I was unaware that Minnesotans wouldn't dream of barging in before your breakfast had settled. Wow, what a difference a few states makes.

Garage sales are a lot of work, a commitment of time and energy that hopefully clears your clutter while padding your wallet. For me, it's always a bit of a party and some spirited sales patter all in one. It's so more enjoyable than watching the Salvation Army drive away with my discards. (Don't scold me though, I donate too)

In that previous state we won't identify, (but just say a young lady named Dorothy lived there),my garage sales were crowded, almost crazy. Living on a well-trafficked street the atmosphere was carnival-like. It was an annual event with regulars; the always-pregnant business professor , the Land Rover guy, the veteran who rode the streets talking to himself who bought and sold cameras from a mail crate on his bike, among others. If they didn't show up I worried they'd died such was their dedication.

Still those bad checks and bathroom requests sometimes left a bad taste in my mouth.

But I have to say after my second sale here to date, you Minnesotans make me proud. Not only do you give me the time for a leisurely meal in the morning, you respond in kind to my greetings with a smile and a nod to the beautiful weather. You insist on returning the hangers. You clue me in when you think I could craigslist things for more money. You negotiate nicely. You even round up occasionally and tell me to keep the change!

But mostly it's good to see a few friendly faces in the lonesome cul de sac; interesting people with wonderful stories and life stories that I'd never meet otherwise. Variously how would I have met a descendant of our bay's namesake? Would I have ever discussed theories of dark energy with an electrical engineer in my front yard, I think not. When would I have met the man who is leaving his wild acres to a conservancy trust? And where would I get to commiserate with so many middle-aged women about our hot flashes while they try on my clothes and celebrate their newfound outfits?