And at the heart of it, that's what I like. It's why I insisted on an older house - a fact I've cursed many times since the husband headed back down to Texas. I like looking at something and realizing it stood witness to other people's lives. I don't know why - the erstwhile writer in me I guess. I like to look at something and wonder what the people who used to own it were like. What they did with it. What they talked about in its presence. If it's a piece of vintage clothing, I wonder where the woman wore it and what she coupled it with. Did she wear gloves and what hat would go nicely with it. Weird? Maybe. Who can truly confess that their own fascinations are weird. They just are what they are. I guess at the end of the day, I like stories. So I like things that have stories to tell. If I could only unlock them.
Plus, I've always been fascinated by things that are older than me. When I was 7 and completely obsessed over the fact that the refrigerator in my parent's cabin was older than me, that's just amusing. When you're my age it's becoming a real challenge. I went to a "vintage" show and sale at the Heinz History Center this past spring and was so depressed at seeing so much kitchenware that I grew up with being passed off as vintage. Didn't they realize I had just donated boxes and boxes of that crap to goodwill when my mother died? It's not "vintage" - it's just old and tacky! But, if I stopped and thought about it, it's no different than my being fascinated by things from the 30's and 40's. To the average shopper at that show - mid-20's hipsters - it's fascinating to look at the things that your parents grew up with as children. They may not realize it, but it's a way to connect back to your parent's past, which impacts you because it framed who they are and how they raised you. You've heard all their stories, now you've got some context for the setting. I know that's true for me. Nonetheless, it's depressing to look at a set of Corningware just like the one your mom had and think it's now old enough to be retro. Because, of course, people don't become retro, just that other thing: old.
But anyway, back to the estate sales. There have been a couple on my very street in the last few weeks, and rumor is there is another to come soon. Despite having a very full house already with all the things I inherited from my parents and a fair amount of stuff from the husband's side of the equation, I hauled home still more stuff. I was - and am - extremely pleased with myself. I got some great pieces, including a stained glass panel that I've been looking for at far less than I've seen elsewhere, but there was a price to be paid that wasn't in dollars and cents. Maybe because I saw the people who belonged to these things going out to get their mail or the paper when I was out walking the dogs. In one case, the house and the couple even made it into my other blog. So there was a vague connection with these people whose things I was now rummaging through like a scavenger. These were my neighbors and now they're gone. It seemed oddly inappropriate to profit from that fact. But, I figured if I didn't, then someone else would.
Then there was the common theme that many of the best estate sales have: they tell the tale of people who are "collectors", a polite way of saying they border on hoarding. The one larger house was crammed full of antiques - they were in excellent shape and very valuable, but there was so much of it that it was nearly overwhelming. I can't imagine how it all fit into that house, even as large as it is. Two weeks later, walking into the foyer of the smaller, humbler home I realized that this couple's things didn't actually fit - they must have had to weave their way in and around all this mass of stuff. There were still tags on coats and hats - and not inexpensive coats and hats. For all the modesty of the home, the lady of the house liked expensive clothing. I now own one of her faux fur coats. I needed it like I need a hole in my head. But I love it. So... But, it got me to thinking how it wasn't just my mother hoarding because she grew up in the Depression - these couples were probably too little during the Depression to really understand what was happening, but you wondered if they came through the peaks and valleys of the Western PA economy and they bought and collected as psychological backlash to the down times. But maybe it's just a reaction to growing old. I've seen it in the terminally ill - almost as though if they keep buying things, they won't die. So, as I hauled home all my awesome stuff, I had to ask myself: why truly are you buying all of this?
Finally, there is the realization, as I surround myself in some other peoples' things that, when they bought these things and proudly set them up in their home, or hung them in their closet, they weren't thinking that someday they would be dead and a total stranger would own them. Really, intellectually, we all know we will die. But emotionally it takes much more to make it sink in. So as I rummaged through a whole rack of old coats trying to decide which was the one I couldn't live without, I decided that life really does fly past and you've got to live it well while you can or the next thing you know your own kids will be selling all your stuff and it'll still have the tags on it.
Who knew that simple estate sale shopping was such a philosophical quagmire?!
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| And that, folks, is the bottom line! www.pittsburghestatesales.com |
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