The Snug Bungalow: Ronald McDonald House Fundraiser Sale Fall 2017

Every six months, like clockwork. We hoard up treasures we no longer consider treasures. Then pack them in the car, drive them to the sale location and donate them, hoping someone else will consider them treasures. We obtain the donor ticket - which lets us into the sale a day early.

The intrepid crew, our inner clocks tuned to each other, we home in and join the line. By now everything is rote. We've been trained. No thought is needed. We are running on instinct now.

Armed with lists, bags, and this time sunblock and parasols. It's the hottest line we've ever waited in. 90 degrees and full sun. I love it. "BRING IT", I silently scream into the sky. Other teammates are melting into snide puddles, whispering taunts about the winter coming. Six months ago it was the coldest line we'd waited in. 42 degrees. Thoughts about global warming and polar bears are never far off.

We make it through to the other side. Some of us a bit more pink. Some of us need more water, but they are selling it on the inside. They know what we need.

We break apart. The inside isn't a place for teams. (It's not a place for strollers, either, but nobody seems to learn that lesson.)

Holiday is to the immediate left, like always. It's comforting, when you are there, on the front lines, fighting the crowds, to know where your targets are. It's like your skin is lit up. All sensors on high. Clenched gut. Pawing through, knowing there is something. Something good waiting, if you can only find it first. Sweating and nervous.

The biggest shock of all: No treasures found in Christmas. Oh, there are plenty to be had by others, but nothing meant specifically for you. No corsages, no trees, no ornaments. Nothing printed on your heart.

Easter makes up for that. I spy three Jadeite eggs and look around in wonder. Nobody else has seen them. They are only a few dollars. How can it be? But history has taught me nothing, if not to swoop now, ask questions later. Or maybe don't ever ask questions. Gift horses and all that.

Fuzzy chick was found in the bath department, which I've learned is where Avon bottles are kept. Hopes soar each year, but are almost always dashed.

Halloween gives up a gift. Vintage plastic mask. Ben Cooper, probably. Why aren't there more? Tubs. I need tubs of them.

Tiny dogs for a tiny dog's bedroom.

I must check for Muppets. Toys are piled high. I only check the plush. Bagged littles are too time consuming. I can't afford to stop. No Muppets to rescue. Only ones that already abide. Other things are collected to be sold again.