For most of my life, a good night's sleep came easily to me. Even when awakened by a crying baby or an unexpected noise, returning to slumber was never a problem. Only when I was truly worried about something, like the serious illness of a family member or a frightening event like the terrorist attacks did I have trouble falling asleep and staying that way. 

Then Covid-19 happened. At the beginning, I had some real anxiety about it. At least in the early going, the possibility of contracting the disease which would eventually take the lives of more than a million Americans was really frightening. My husband Andy had several risk factors and of course, we were both well over 70. Like everyone, we were really strict about exposing ourselves by going to the grocery store or restaurants, as well as wearing masks in public. We stayed home most of the time and for a while, didn't even see our children and grandchildren. I began to have trouble either falling asleep or getting back to sleep if I woke up. Note: After avoiding Covid-19 for more than two years, I got it after attending a wedding in Philadelphia.

I tried a number of strategies, like staying up later than I usually did or taking things like Tylenol PM. Neither was effective. Then I tried a small dose of melatonin. Not only did it not help my insomnia, but I felt slightly buzzed the next day. I've always been a morning person--the most productive time of day for me. Now I felt like taking a nap by 9:30 a.m., which was most uncharacteristic. 

It seemed the only way for me to eventually get back to sleep was to get up and do something else until I felt really sleepy. So, I would get out of bed, put on my robe and slippers and repair to the family room. Usually, I would get a snack, like a yogurt or little bowl of cereal. I found that getting something in my stomach helped me eventually go back to sleep. There was only one problem with this approach: Toby. Our 10-year-old dachshund sleeps on the end of our bed. He is such a mama's boy that when I leave the room, he wakes from a sound slumber and follows me. This does not please him at all, and soon he was whining because he wanted to get back in bed. I found that if I got him up on the couch, he'd curl up in a blanket and snooze. 

I never take my phone or a book with me, just find something I really like on TV for about an hour. I've binged through Nashville a couple times (my favorite TV show ever), all 12 seasons of Call the Midwife, and recently New Amsterdam (about a hospital where things happen that would never occur in a real hospital). Last night, I watched The Four Seasons, a 1981 film with Alan Alda and Carol Burnett that I've always liked. When I feel myself getting drowsy, that's when I head back to bed, dachshund in tow. 

I've since learned that insomnia is fairly common in people over the age of 65. Maybe it's because we don't get enough activity during the day to tire us out or that we just don't need as much sleep as when we were younger. So, I've decided not to fight it. If I haven't drifted off after about 20 minutes, I quietly leave the bedroom with Toby and amuse myself with a low-stress TV show until my eyes are beginning to slam shut. Then I go to sleep quickly and wake up refreshed. Maybe insomnia will go away, maybe not, but at least I know what works for me. 

I should have known better but the list of items I didn't want any more was growing. Every time I looked in a room, on a shelf or in a closet, I found something else to add. There was the 36-bottle wine rack in the garage, the three photo albums I never used, and the assortment of baskets and artificial plants that decorated the tops of our kitchen cabinets. In the guest room closet there was an old but still-functioning printer/scanner. The kid's room had a DVD player (does anyone still use those?) and stored against the wall was the non-smart TV we didn't need after my daughter and her husband gave us a smart TV for Christmas. In our closet was a CPAP machine that my husband only used a couple of times. I had a box of cute dachshund figurines that belonged to my parents, as well as three large guys that were displayed along with aforementioned baskets and plants. Another box held a set of beautiful dishes we bought in Philadelphia's Chinatown years ago with a tea set. The list went on and on. It all had to go. 

Could I have taken all this stuff to the local thrift store? Of course. But no-o-o, I had to have a garage sale. I advertised on Nextdoor and bought signs and price stickers at the Dollar Store. I borrowed three folding tables. Spent an hour pricing everything. On a nice cool Saturday morning I set up the tables just inside the garage, draped them with some old red sheets and artfully arranged everything to appeal to potential buyers. The wine rack was a great place to display pots and artificial plants. Andy visited our bank and got $100 in small bills for making change. I strategically placed four signs around the neighborhood. I was ready to roll.

A few people trickled in but didn't buy anything. One or two cars slowed as they passed but kept going. One even turned around in the driveway and took off. In hour two, a couple women bought some of the pots and dachshunds. Speaking of dachshunds, our Toby was outside with me, but with his retractable lead hooked to the metal frame of the garage. He amused himself by barking at people or winding himself around table legs.

At noon, Andy brought me a turkey sandwich to quell hunger pangs. I consumed it uninterrupted by customers. A couple of Hispanic guys spent the most time perusing the items and commenting in Spanish. They did buy a couple things but were my last customers. Nearly all the items I had carefully arranged were still there. In hour four, when my back was about to give out from sitting in a wooden chair with a pillow, I called it quits. 

Now we couldn't pull the car into the garage because everything was still there. On Monday, I loaded nearly everything into the back of the Murano and headed for the thrift store, which was glad to take everything off my hands. Still trying to sell the wine rack. The Royal Copenhagen dachshunds might go to the consignment shop. And I'm still hoping to find a good home for the Chinese dishes because I just couldn't dump them at the thrift shop. I returned the tables, folded up the sheets and we pulled the car into the garage. 

Final profit? About ten bucks. Lesson learned.