I’m beginning to re-think our weekend Yard Sale strategy.

The Craigslist posting is up. The neon green (can’t miss it from outer space) poster boards are ready, as are the numerous objects that once held a special place in our hearts, yet are now ready to be sold at a fraction of what we paid. The wife and I are prepared for our 5-hour (7am to 2pm, no early birds, please) nostalgia sale. Come strangers, rummage thru that which we wish to vanquish.

As the sale draws near, I’m beginning to think we should let people into the house and allow them to make offers on anything that catches their eye. Everything is going to end up in the sale anyway…why fight the inevitable.

It’s weird how we consider ourselves “owners”. I own a car. I own a house. I own a desk. Ownership implies that we hold onto things for an indefinite period of time. Yet, every few years we find ourselves upgrading our cars, televisions, iPods and appliances. I understand that innovation drives commerce. Mp3s are a hell of a lot more convenient than dragging around a box full of old 45s.

The curse of children is that they grow so fast that clothes, shoes and toys have a small shelf life. But we can’t help but be sentimental towards objects. I don’t want to see the Baby Einstein Miss Caterpillar out on the sale pile. Yet, with Christmas right around the corner, I know that a whole new influx of new toys will be arriving. The irony is that these new playthings will also face the same fate as Miss Caterpillar…doomed to make the inevitable trip from the living room to the garage, to the sale pile. It’s like “The Green Mile” trip for stuff. Nothing returns to the house once it disappears into the garage. Ever.

Growing children needs aside, I try to be better about the crap I buy. I’ve set a personal mandate to not buy something unless I’ll use everyday, or could help us bring in more income (or it prevents me from showing up to work naked). DVD and music spending has been slashed. So long to $45 Disney coffee table books that I’ll only read once. Clothing and accessories are rare. McFarlane Sports figures are history.

That said, I’m eying my home office Wal Mart $150 cheap o desk for replacement. It was built for a desktop computer and monitor, complete with keyboard tray, shelves storage and very little work space. Six months after buying it, my computer monitor died. I switched over to a laptop, which freed me from the desk. The problem is that I can’t write from a chair or couch. I need sit up, rest elbows and type away. I NEED to write at a desk. Ergonomically, my office desk is uncomfortable. The kitchen table soon became my office desk.

Sara and I were at opposite ends of the computing spectrum. She was desktop bound, yet comfortably content to compute from the couch. I had the freedom to compute on the can, yet needed a desk. My home office is cozy and comfy in a man-child decorating sort of way. With Sara stuck at the desktop, I was a nomad with a laptop.

Now that Sara has moved from desktop to MacBook, I can finally reclaim my extremely uncomfortable desk. Seeing as my only talent is writing, I can semi-justify getting a new desk unto which I could practice my craft.

My search for a new, comfortable yet stylish desk led me to West Elm, where I found a nice looking Sawhorse workbench desk that sports an equally extravagant price tag of $549. Expensive, but Sara and I have gone through cheap desks and bookcases as if they were toilet paper. Paying a bit more for something of quality that will, ideally last for a long time seems like a good idea. Alas, the major sticking point is said $549.

For the past year, I’ve earmarked a bunch of collectibles and stuff that I’d like to sell on eBay. Knowing that people pay $45 for old issues of Tiger Beat, I’m confident that somebody might find my collectible baseballs and GI Joe comics worth bidding on. Even if everything I have earmarked sold, I don’t think it would reach the $549 for the desk. This leads me to consider selling some of my prized possessions that I have traveled with me across the country. My childhood toys that take me back to a place a long, long time ago, in a galaxy far, far away.

My vintage Star Wars toys.

For years, I’ve held onto my prized childhood possessions, in the hopes that I’d be able to properly display them. Since they were packed up in New Hampshire, they’ve sat in two large boxes. They have waited in storage sheds and garages, waiting until that day when they’d take their rightful place on a shelf or encased in glass. Nothing less than an act of Congress would make me consider jettisoning them.

So, they sit there. In the garage. Amongst the other stuff we need to get rid of. On equal level as the lawn mower, Christmas decorations and bulk packages of toilet paper. The Christmas decorations get more house time. Luke, Leia and the AT-AT Walker sit stuffed away, holding the exact same value as tiny pairs of socks and outfits in which my first child wore.

Apparently, sentiment means nothing as the days go by. Times change. The dark side isn’t so dark anymore.

A 20% off sale, brings the desk down to $439, a much more attainable number. I might be able to clear that if eBay hounds are interested in Disney sericels and Hard Rock Café jean jackets. I’d sell all my baseball cards for $50 if people still bought baseball cards. I might not need to sell my Star Wars stuff. Yet I’m a fool to keep thinking they’re valuable hand-me-downs that I’m just “care taking” for Casey and Kieran. My sons will never find the same sentiment in them as I did.

We sell our sentiments for pennies on the dollar at yard sales. Yet, for the misfit goods, it’s a second act. One mans trash is another mans treasure. Perhaps this is the best moment for getting rid of my Star Wars trinkets. Indirectly, a desk will help me provide for my family more than those toys ever will. I’ll always have the memories, the fun of reenacting my favorite scenes those toys.

A quick look on eBay confirms that many people are detached themselves from their Star Wars collections. Yet, there seem to be very few bids on those collections that are out there.

Perhaps memories are the only things we “own”. Everything else seems virtually worthless.