Saturday was the first really warm day in a long while here. Before heading off to the hardware store to pick up some things for work out in the yard, we dropped by an Estate Sale in the neighborhood. Phil is a sucker for these things. Yard sales, garage sales. Whatever. There was also an Open House being held there. The lawn with decked out signs for the Open House and a strand of those little flags on a string like you see at the used car lots, wrapped around the bushes. A jolly lady answered the door when we arrived and welcomed us inside.
The house looked familiar, and I asked Phil if it was the one we looked at last year when he was in the market to buy one. “You know, the one with the kids'” I explained. “Estate sales are for when people die'” he whispered to me. I thought maybe those people sold their house and the next owner did die. There would have been enough time for that. About a year. Though it startled me to think that maybe the original sellers, the ones with the kids, were the one who’s estate was now marked with brightly colored circular stickers and signs announcing their low, low price. Actually, it was an old lady who died. I realized this only as I was upstairs in the bedroom and saw her two wigs neatly laid out on the dresser. I wondered if they were for sale. They didn’t have any fluorescent colored stickers on them. Her walker was. $20. I wondered what kind of lady she was. Her dresser also contained a bright pink visor with the words “Real Shicksa Girl” or something like that. Some old Jewish humor. Maybe she liked Atlantic City.
She must’ve died recently. The bananas in her kitchen were still fresh. Some weird little girl passed by and was talking to the lady at a card table taking the money and considering best offers. “My daddy’s nerves are a wreck!” she said too loudly. I wondered if she was related to the old lady that lived there who’s wigs were upstairs and walker was for sale. I marveled the 25 cent mug with the old Epcot Center mascot, a purple cartoon dragon, but decided against something I don’t need in the first place. In the end, Phil borrowed a dime to buy a refrigerator magnet. One with the Normal Rockwell illustration of the cop and runaway kid at the diner.