Dear Me and You, Estate Sales Memories

Dear Me and You, 

I’m driving home from The Home Depot. I have two kids in the backseat and in the front seat a rather large indoor tree to replace (for the third time) a failed attempt at keeping an indoor tree alive. I’m in my husband’s car, which is much smaller than my van (and I still don’t have my van back) and so the tree is uncomfortably leaning against the seat, and I’m worried the tree will feel like it’s life at my house is off to a rough start and will choose to die sooner than I hope. 

I’m dwelling on keeping this tree safe. I switch on my turn signal because we are on the final street until we reach our track and I notice a plethora of cars parked. As I wait for the turn to be safe–for the tree, the kids, and me– I spy the signs: Estate Sale. 

I’m not surprised to see the signs on the house. On our walks and many drive bys in the past I saw the paraphneial of a life needing support, comfort, and finally death. It always made my heart heavy because my Grandma was in hospice and it still hurts to think about those moments. I snap myself out of the memories– mine and the ones I imagine that are harbored in that house offering an Estate Sale. 

As the girls and I unload the car, my mind, thinking about the estate sale,  is loaded with more memories. I grew up rummaging through yard sales, estate sales, and thrift stores– those are some good moments. I enjoyed the discovery. I enjoyed the stories I would create for the pieces I found. So, I text my neighbor and ask, “There’s an estate sale around the corner, are you interested in walking over with me?” She replies, “Yes, give me ten.” 

We walk over and in a few minutes we are rummaging, commenting, and hoping to find some treasures. I am a bit in awe at the amount of things; in particular the amount of things people are trying to sell and I wonder if there is in fact a buyer for a collection of empty coffee cans. The house is a time capsule, which adds to the heaviness of why we are allowed to walk through this home, picking through items that were worn, used, and cherished for decades. 

There’s a display of dolls. Some damaged in ways that make me wonder how did that happen? Why were they kept? 

We see a rotary phone and I tell my neighbor, “I used to have a rotary princess phone. I loved that thing.” She seems a bit surprised. I don’t share that I remember my dad listening in on my calls.  

I see an old-school women’s cosmetic case and I share, “Oh wow, I used to collect these things.” She laughs. I don’t share that my dad threw them all out because he didn’t want to store them anymore. 

We look through the glass of a jewelry case and I see an old flip-top lighter and I utter, “Back in the day when I smoked cloves I used a lighter like this.” She chuckles. I don’t tell her I did that because I thought my dad would think I was cool and like me a bit more. 

Weird. It’s weird how memories are autonomous at times, bubbling up from some crevice of your mind, saying hello. I attempted to say goodbye but the memories are lingering. And often, as my mind does, it has jumped into a spiral and now I’m choosing the memories– some good and some bad– and it has an impact. I’m learning to acknowledge my feelings. I’m learning to tell myself that those memories are from then and I’m here now. I’m learning to set a timer, allowing myself to be in an unpleasant state, and then, when the timer dings, I say goodbye and continue living in the here and now. 

They informed us that the estate sale will have new stuff tomorrow, starting at 9:30. It feels ironic, promoting the idea of new stuff in a house that is an ode to someone old and gone. 

I may go. I’m curious. Does that make me… something? 

We made it through another day, me and you. Kudos.