Estate Sale

Estate sale, treasures only to those who once lived here. Stories long ago forgotten, maybe to never be told. A somber event, people move wordlessly, occasionally whispering a “sorry” as they wait on the stairs. We are like vultures, picking our way through the dead-feeling debris, left behind by other scavengers, and relatives. I stare in amazement at the volume of glassware. The queen could feed an army with it, maybe two. So many dated necklaces, hats not worn since the 60’s, a volume of books, some written in German. A hand painted raccoon on a flat dark canvas grins at me. I try to leave him three times, but I cannot. He is signed Carolyn 80. I match him up with a frame and they fit perfectly, no doubt partnered before the sale. I believe the owner of this dwelling might have been an art teacher, as there are many paintings here, different dates, different signatures, and those horrible old dried up oil paints upstairs. Her sewing machine was my next big find. She sewed, she was an artist, and she quilted. An infamous she, who is no longer coming back to her home, never sitting in those plushy lawn chairs, Never seeing her home again. The thrill of my finds dampens a bit by this knowledge. Someday I will be this “she” they are wondering about. I envision my four hundred and twenty odd paintings thrown onto a bonfire. No one appreciates your collectibles more than you, the painter of your own life. I leave somberly, holding my new sewing machine, feeling strange.