Friday I went estate sale shopping with my friend Marcia. Not the plain-ole-run-of-the-mill-clean-all-the-crap-out-of-the-garage-type yard sale, but true estate sales handled by licensed companies, organized and advertised because someone died or went bankrupt or maybe just came to their senses and realized they were drowning in vintage tupperware. Marcia is great at picking the sales and mapping out our route for the day. Although we rarely buy anything, there’s always that remote possibility of uncovering a brilliant diamond in the rough laying at the bottom of a musty box somewhere in Garland, Texas.
The first house we hit was a hoarder home. It was obvious. Every room was filled to the rafters with dusty stuff including multiple identical unopened boxes containing every late night Ronco Popeil product offered since 1965. Every inch of the large back yard was filled with heaping piles of clothes – most still with price tags – and cartons of everything under the sun. In 1972 our house was robbed while we were vacationing in Mexico. Somehow, our stolen things ended up in this woman’s back yard graveyard. Anything ever gone missing was in this woman’s back yard.
I started feeling much better about the state of our garage.
Walking through the homes, you can almost imagine the people who lived there, especially those with family photos left behind. One house in Highland Park had large photos of their children for sale still above the mantle, expensively framed and lit from above with spotlights. Entire photo albums were available for anyone who recently joined the witness protection program in need of instant cousins.
Another cute little house which was clean and orderly seemed particularly bittersweet. The lady’s Christmas decorations were spread out on a table, available for anyone off the street to pick through. Those items, some homemade, were likely very important to her. I wanted to scoop them all up and take them home with me. Abandoned homeless Christmas decorations are sad. Her kitchen, once the hub of the house, was silent with coffee cups no longer used. Her husband’s handsome desk looked as if he just went down to the corner to buy a newspaper – his briefcase sat on the floor nearby and diplomas hung on the wall. His box of ties were $1 each. I hope he didn’t work too hard his whole life.
Another cute little house which was clean and orderly seemed particularly bittersweet. The lady’s Christmas decorations were spread out on a table, available for anyone off the street to pick through. Those items, some homemade, were likely very important to her. I wanted to scoop them all up and take them home with me. Abandoned homeless Christmas decorations are sad. Her kitchen, once the hub of the house, was silent with coffee cups no longer used. Her husband’s handsome desk looked as if he just went down to the corner to buy a newspaper – his briefcase sat on the floor nearby and diplomas hung on the wall. His box of ties were $1 each. I hope he didn’t work too hard his whole life.
And every house had one of those anniversary clocks. There is no need to ever pay full price for those, just stop at an estate sale on the way to the 50th anniversary party.
Later that same night, I was reminded at Hunter’s graduation ceremony we are left with four things at the end of our lives – memories, awards, souvenirs, and a legacy. Memories will fade over time. Awards and souvenirs are left behind in those crazy estate sales. All that really matters is your legacy.
Maybe someday if I’m lucky I will publish a story that will be loved. But I know my legacy will be Kelsey and Tate who know right from wrong and have grown up to be productive citizens. They don’t expect a handout and aren’t afraid to work hard and get dirty in the process. And hopefully they will clean out all our junk before it is thrown out on the lawn for the curious pickers.
talya
Musical Pairings:
“Can’t Take it With You”, Eric Church
“Homeward Bound”, Paul Simon
