I am seeking advice on selling some collectibles I have recently been given. Comic books, homies, die-cast cars, trading cards, Simpson's stuff, and a lot of other small toys.

I have a couple thousand comic books, which I have not inventoried. The boxes are still closed. Many are brand new, and cover price only. Probably 90% or more are printed in the last 15 years, so they aren't worth more than cover price, if that. All are in mint condition. Many are unread, in original wrappers. All are stored in plastic boxes. I wouldn't know how to recognize a stand-out issue, if there is one.

There's probably a couple thousand homies, some unopened. They're probably worth half of what they cost, but where do I sell them?

There's a Red Power Ranger as tall as I am, wearing a Virginia Tech sports shirt. I know it costs over a $100 to ship one, so selling over Internet doesn't seem reasonable.

There are framed movie posters of Shrek, Three Stooges, and Marilyn Monroe. And a 5'6" cardboard cutout of Kathy Ireland. There are more pictures of Marilyn and the Stooges, an odd-size one of Richmond, and many Hot Wheel posters, and Simpson posters. And some local artist prints--how do I sell those?

Now the cars are only worth what they cost from what I've read; they haven't lost value like the homies. There's probably 3000 unopened, maybe as many opened and played with.

Also, Harry Potter stuff, Marilyn trading cards, MacDonald Happy Meal toys, Simpson toys, puzzles, and an unopened Simpson chess set, and bunches of other tiny toys.

Anyone with experience selling these type items? I'm going to check local consignment shops to see what they're willing to take. Comic book stores will only advise or trade, unless there's one rare one, worth at least $20. And then they need to make a profit, so they won't pay nearly what it can sell for, and they don't want to sort through and find the rare one themselves. They can be sold by comic auction houses, but they want complete series, no missing issues, in mint condition, preferably not newer ones like these. And the buyer has a 3 day return window, which will be a 3% loss to the seller.

Open to ideas.
 

It's almost a month since my brother was found dead, at home alone. He was 59. He had sleep apnea, and it finally did him in.
Everyday I cry. I know now all the suffering he endured, quietly, and privately. I miss him. We have to change the way we shop and cook, since we had him over at least twice a week. Family celebrations won't be the same.
I want to collect all his framed photos together and hang on a bare wall in the staircase as a tribute. I don't want to enshrine him, or make the other family members feel neglected. I just want a way to keep him with us.
He was a good man, tender-hearted and kind, with a rough exterior. No one would call him sentimental or mushy. But in a way he was. He just had to hide that vulnerability.
It's terrible that we don't realize how much a person is a part of the fabric of our lives until we lose him.
If we made a movie of his life, like "It's A Wonderful Life", he would have been shocked to see how much influence he had on others, how so many lives would have turned out differently. So many people are better off, are more generous and kinder because he treated them generously and kindly.
Brother, you will always live in my heart.
 

Go Giants.
Give to the local food bank to Stop Hunger. (Give soup for Souper-Bowl.)
Finally saw The Pianist. Enthralling movie. Disappointed that he couldn't locate the German soldier in time.
I don't mind Ellen Degeneres as the spokesperson for J C Penny. No one objected when she represented Cover Girl. What's the big deal? Why don't the Million Moms check the background of all spokespersons for family values? I'm sure lots of straight people representing products or companies are promiscuous or have drinking problems or arrest records. No one else has had to be pure or been required to be paragons of virture before advertising. Neither should Ellen.
Depressing, but real, thought for the day: Every baby is born in order to die some day.
 

When a loved one passes, someone has to go through their things and dispose of them. So my elderly father and I have this job, to sort, discard, donate, or give away my late brother's belongings. It's a hard chore, but at least therapeutic. For a little longer, you connect with your lost one, by touching his belongings, by glimpsing into the more private side.

My brother threw coins everywhere. At one time, he had jars available for easy tossing. But apparently, in recent years they were thrown into dresser drawers, night stands, a desktop, the kitchen counter, a table beside his TV chair. We're keeping track for probate reasons, as well as expenses.

We never realized how organized he was. You wouldn't guess it from what I've said so far, but he was very tidy about receipts, paying bills, important papers. We've found it all with ease. Even his collections were organized, at least up until the very end.

He was sick and getting worse.It was beginning to affect his ability to endure, to keep on track, to care about routine. If he didn't see the peanut butter jar, he opened a new one. He had 3 open, with hardly anything taken out of them. We're beginning to realize the depth of his suffering, and his determination to carry on without complaint or asking for help.

This work is tiring. It's tedious and emotionally draining. It's necessary work. Will it help us go on without him? When I look at the pictures on the wall, the photographs he kept, and the canned goods in the cupboard, or when I stand in the room where he died, I feel a connection. I miss you, Jack.
 

It is a hard, hard thing to say good-bye forever to a younger brother. The last 8 days have been the longest of my life. It seems like ages since we found out about my brother's heart attack, and yet it is still hard to believe it happened. We are all tired and worn out, although we've had plenty of sleep and haven't eaten quite well, thanks to my church friends.

It is a relief to be back at work, to have all the company gone, to have some time alone. It is therapeutic to go through my brother's papers, bills, etc., quietly and slowly. To touch his things, to see how organized he really was, despite his housekeeping skills, has helped us to hold onto him a little longer. Tomorrow my elderly father and I will go to clean the refrigerator and handle some of the less urgent, daily tasks, maybe even box up some of his collectibles.

We muddle through from day to day. Life goes on, but our grief remains.
 

My life, and my brothers' and father's, will never be the same again without Harry. He was larger than life. He would object to a memorial service or eulogies, although he had both. He had a wake another night, while all his old friends from high school gathered for hamburgers, beer, and stories.

I loved him as only you can love family. Flaws don't matter. It's the kind of love that just persists. He was a big-hearted person with a gruff exterior. He was generous to a fault, honest, fair, open-minded, forgiving, He'd go the second mile if you asked for one. No sacrifice was too great when it came to family. He was our hero. He was Mr. Christmas. All of our lives were better because of him--richer, fuller, more adventurous. He probably helped shape all of us into the people we are. The world really was a better place with him in it.

He will always live in our hearts; he will always influence us. His life really was a life worth celebrating.
 

My 59 year old brother passed away. It was shocking to us. We knew he was not well, we did not know how bad it was. He thought he was shielding us, I guess, from his misery. It doesn't help us now as we put the pieces together and know just how much he was suffering and for so long.
My father is in his 80's and he's not handling it well. His emotions are all over the place. Everything we say or do offends him. We're all at different stages in our grief. Some are too outspoken; some don't speak up until the boiling point hits. It's very tense. We love each other, but we aren't helping each other grieve. We're all at odds.
I guess we'll work it out. The bottom line is we've lost someone special and none of our lives will be the same. That we share.
 

Where would we be without hope?
Expect good things in 2012. This year could see your best poems or your completed novel. Or you could actually start to supplement or replace your income by selling your materials! You might produce the great American novel, or write a world classic.Don't worry about disappointment. Just look for the good things!
 

May all the sorrows, disappointments, and heartbreaks of 2011 be behind you. May you find health, prosperity, laughter and happiness in 2012. May the joy of writing always be yours.
Happy New Year.
 

My young friend, Anthony, whom I met through WDC, posed the question a day or so ago to his friends. It struck me as a good one for anyone over 20 years old. Yes, we have changed in our life circumstances, health, and so forth, but the world has changed, too.

So I pass the question on to anyone who reads this. What were you doing as 1991 drew to a close? Were you in college, starting a family, starting over after some big change, retiring? What styles did you like, what music did you personally play, what were your hobbies? What was your view of the world? Did other people know you liked to write?

For me, my income had stopped climbing and I was living away from all family because my job moved me. My company had downsized, and it was apparent the career into which I had invested all my time and energy was going to disappear soon. I wasn't married and had been told not to have children due to my health risks. The college degree was just a memory, and the future looked bleak. Looking back I know it was just a rough patch (it got worse before it got better), but at the time all my dreams were gone.

There were no cell phones, no Internet, no dish TV. I could ride to DC in an hour from my driveway and be on Pennsylvania Avenue. If lucky, you could find a parking space near the White House. You could still find a hardware store in any town, walk in and have a clerk find exactly what you wanted, like loose screws or wire--no prepackaged things hanging on hooks in a long aisle. There were still downtown movie theaters and department stores. Women's shoes were still comfortable, even stylish ones. There were no coffee shop chains, LP's were still available, as were a few 8-tracks, although cassettes were the more popular form of music.

In the area where I lived, halfway between the state capital and the nation's capital, there was a proliferation of trucks with gun racks, everyone loved NASCAR, even the old ladies at church. Plaid shirts for men were seen everywhere, and the dress code was rather limited unlike my hometown which is a university town.What I didn't realize was that people were beginning to flood into the area and within 10-15 years, the population would triple, the forests, golf courses, and farms would become huge shopping and entertainment areas. and battlefields would become subdivisions and schools. The traffic would become a nightmare, and it took longer and longer each year to arrive at the same destination. Forget taking the car into DC; catch the monorail now.

Whatever your age or where you are, tell me how things were back then.