10/15/2026
Monday, October 19, will mark four years since Mickey and I left our home in Arizona to start a new life in rural Eastern North Carolina. October 26 will be the fourth anniversary of our arrival in North Carolina, and November 22 will be the fourth anniversary of moving into our house. Each date holds a little piece of the story.
Yesterday, I spent a good part of the day in Franklin, Virginia, cleaning out a storage unit that I bought at auction. If you’re picturing a scene from "Storage Wars," that show disappeared when they started moving all the auctions online, but yes, it’s a similar concept. A new customer to the store introduced me to the idea of buying storage units, explaining that she and a friend with whom she shares a consignment booth in Greenville acquire a significant amount of merchandise for their booth from storage units that go up for auction. My interest was piqued, so this week, I finally decided to give it a try.
I paid about $40, all in, for the items in a 5-by-10-foot storage unit; about $25 for gas; and five hours of my time. What did I get for all this excitement? A heavy-duty garden hose; a dead (and I mean looks like it had been used dead) fire extinguisher; a glider rocking chair; a glider ottoman that does not match the chair; a rattan accent table with a built-in magazine rack; an oak nightstand that has seen better days; a large accent mirror; another metal fish sculpture (anyone remember Denise?); an unbranded leaf blower; a giant plastic garden rake; a flimsy clothing rack; a boatload of clothes hangers; a couple purses and pairs of slippers; a few dishes; a few pots and pans; a dead tree of some sort; random craft supplies; about a dozen plaques and pieces of wall décor, including one that says “Don’t judge others just because they sin differently than you”; three small (maybe 12 inches long) wooden fish with 4-inch round mirrors in the middle; a half-circle accent table, which I have since learned is called a demilune; a very heavy Casey Pottery pitcher and bowl; a brass accent table without the glass; two round end tables without the glass; and a birdhouse that has seen some shenanigans.
Was it worth it? Probably. I will be able to sell most of what I retrieved or use it in the shop.
Was it fun? More than I expected. I went armed with screwdrivers, scissors, tape, a blanket, a flashlight, water, a broom and dustpan, a Swiffer and pads. I forgot trash bags. It was a small, mostly empty unit – which I chose intentionally because I did not want to make multiple trips. I drank most of the water and used the blanket, the broom, and the dustpan.
What did I learn? People are kind. A couple who had also purchased a storage unit in the same complex arrived about 20 minutes after I did – and the man taught me how to break the little seal they put on the locker in addition to the actual lock. I had no idea why the door wouldn't open! He later graciously gave me two garbage bags so that I didn’t have to run to Walmart and come back. What did HE learn? That people are weirdos. His unit contained a bunch of p**n and a 120-pound s*x doll (which he intends to sell because they command insane cash).
Did it all fit in a single load? Yes, because I am Laura, Queen of Tahoe Tetris. And because my neighbor gave me garbage bags, which made the small amount of trash in my unit more malleable than the box I originally had it in.
Mickey and I had a storage unit in Phoenix – and we had to clean it out before we left. We also donated a whole bunch of stuff to local thrift stores because it just wouldn’t fit in the moving truck we drove out here or the four pods we rented for delivery. But that wasn’t my first go-round with storage units. I actually lost a storage unit in New Jersey when I first moved back to Phoenix in 1999. It was only $55/month, but I was living with my folks and wasn’t working for the first couple of months, and I just couldn’t make the payments. A friend of mine later explained it was my way of letting go of the past I was leaving behind in New Jersey. I think she may have had a point.
And now I’ve come full circle.
Among the dishes I unpacked today was a turkey platter. I’ll bet almost every American family has had one like it at some point. And I did what I often do when I’m handling things that have belonged to others. I wondered about the meals they shared around that platter. I blessed the family members who were present for those dinners; I thought about the laughter they shared, as well as the tears; and I wished them well.
On my way home from Franklin last night, I drove past acres and acres of cotton farms. The sun was setting, the tall trees stood sentry behind the cotton plants, and the light slowly faded in the west as a fingernail moon became more visible. “Don’t Stop Believin’” came on the radio and I sang every word at the top of my lungs. I was so happy – so grateful for these last four years. So grateful for the circumstances that allowed us to pick up our lives and reroot them here. I’ve heard that “Don’t Stop Believin’” is playing somewhere in the world at any given moment. I think that’s a fairy tale – though there are times I still can’t believe how often it’s played – but yesterday, it was the perfect song for a perfect moment.
