Monday, February 28, 2011

The Estate Sale

Morning Readers,

     "That's what an estate sale means....they died." I say, very matter of factly. Que husband's charmingly surprised face, and the adorable response of, "Oh." This brief conversation was exchanged while lugging the twins through a complete stranger's home, this past Saturday. We're old and married now, Readers, so you can't expect us to be lounging around, enjoying the first lazy day of the weekend. No no no. We choose to pack up our children, and go poking through dead people's leftover possessions. Because that's not morbid.
     It's not like I found myself lacking for things to do this weekend. The bathroom could've used a scrub, the floors, a shine. But, as it was a dreary day out, I was up for anything, other than sticking my head in the tub, and attacking it with the last of my Scrubbing Bubbles. So when husband got tipped off to an estate sale, close by, I jumped out of the "butt groove" I was working into the corner of the couch and got the twins ready.  

Old beer steins you say? Push lawnmowers, old dishes, and lawn ornaments with one eye left?.... I'm so there. 

     A twenty-minute drive deposited us in front of a well-kept, one-story ranch house. Whoever had previously resided there, had either been highly active with a paint brush, or had wonderful family. I found the latter to be true, as we were saturated in kind "hellos" and  "what adorable babies you have". I liked these people. And as horrible as it is to admit it, I liked the way they'd organized the last earthly 'doling out' of their dear departed grandmother. Because, well, she deserved it.
     She'd been fabulous and needed a final showcase. I can't be totally certain, but I think there's an excellent chance that she may have been Lana Turner. Or at the very least, a proud participant in her fan club. Stacks and stack of purses, shoes, hair accessories, jewelry and various other fashionable items were organized on neat, little shelves. Her collection of purses, exhausted from their long trip from 1932, were especially impressive. I resisted the urge to snap-up one that looked like a gold plated lunch box, unsure as to how I could pull it off next to a sweatsuit.
     The remainder of the trip wound us through several more rooms, full of things I thought I needed, but surely could live least, I'm pretty sure I don't need a briefcase or a set of five plastic goblets with tropical fish-shaped handles. The old, waist-high radio, with the foot hole kicked in it, I'm still debating.
     Husband was the only person who gained anything from our little outing. He's now the proud owner of a beautiful crucifix and chain, we'd delved deep into the piles of jewelry to retrieve; a well spent four dollars and fifty cents. And now that he's gotten over the initial shock of where the goods of an estate sale come from, he's expressed interest in doing this several more times. Oh good, I've been hoping for an excuse to buy that trailer I've always dreamed of.

Until Next Time Readers!