My weekend was turned upside down with a call from a friend.
"Hey, I just got back from an estate sale near Pinehurst and I think you need to hear about it."
She went on to tell me that the family of a deceased couple was selling to the walls and amongst the tagged items were several musical instruments. By 4:30 on Friday, Mabes, Donna, Mama, and I were piled in Mabes new Honda and heading south. I guess you could say we were all in one Accord. Sorry, I couldn't resist.
The adventure saw me headed home with a handmade mandolin - in immaculate condition. However, that is only part of the story. What struck me so undeniably, was the feeling that came over me as I walked around the home of the late couple. Now, I've been to many, many estate sales over the years ... but none that got to me quite like this one. Room by room their story began to come into focus. The walls were dotted with framed photographs and paintings of them separate and together - all engaging in different activities at home and abroad. She was a first generation Italian-American and he was a first generation South American-American. (How exactly do you say that correctly?) They looked like movie starts in their younger years. I purchased an 11x14 black and white of them decked out in their riding clothes. I saw their riding boots in the master bedroom and their saddles were in the garage. They had matching fencing attire, a slew of photography equipment and cameras, several unique acoustic instruments, bookshelves lined with language-tutorials and travel journals. The lady of the house had several fur stoles and wraps in the closet, along with a classic steamer-trunk she used for traveling.
Their lives seemed so real to me as I made my way from room to room. It appears as though they really lived life to its fullest. It would seem from the inventory that they not only enjoyed a very diverse array of activities ... but more importantly ... they enjoyed them together. What encouraging evidence to leave behind for those who would observe their relationship posthumously.
I will never know just how in love they were. I will never eat a meal with them or sit as they show the freshly developed photographs from their latest vacation. I will never watch as they comb their horses down after a late-afternoon ride, or laugh as they don their fencing suits and go at it with swords. No, I'll never get the opportunity to know them in the purest sense of the word
but ...
I did get to walk amongst all the memory-markers and imagine ...
and that was enough.
I hope that Mrs.Louise Menoiz would be happy to know that I respectfully took a little bit of her life back home with me to pass on to the next generation. The handmade mandolin, given to her for her 14th birthday in 1926, will provide our home with many moments of pleasure, music, and family. Those immortal qualities of life transcend the here and now and somehow provide me with a very tangible connection with the woman I never knew. There is something very authentic about this. I can't quite put my finger on it ... but it moves me. It is like getting a tiny glimpse of the grander script and how human lives touch and overlap in ways we don't even realize.
There seems to be something very spiritual about that ...
and the gift goes on ...
"Hey, I just got back from an estate sale near Pinehurst and I think you need to hear about it."
She went on to tell me that the family of a deceased couple was selling to the walls and amongst the tagged items were several musical instruments. By 4:30 on Friday, Mabes, Donna, Mama, and I were piled in Mabes new Honda and heading south. I guess you could say we were all in one Accord. Sorry, I couldn't resist.
The adventure saw me headed home with a handmade mandolin - in immaculate condition. However, that is only part of the story. What struck me so undeniably, was the feeling that came over me as I walked around the home of the late couple. Now, I've been to many, many estate sales over the years ... but none that got to me quite like this one. Room by room their story began to come into focus. The walls were dotted with framed photographs and paintings of them separate and together - all engaging in different activities at home and abroad. She was a first generation Italian-American and he was a first generation South American-American. (How exactly do you say that correctly?) They looked like movie starts in their younger years. I purchased an 11x14 black and white of them decked out in their riding clothes. I saw their riding boots in the master bedroom and their saddles were in the garage. They had matching fencing attire, a slew of photography equipment and cameras, several unique acoustic instruments, bookshelves lined with language-tutorials and travel journals. The lady of the house had several fur stoles and wraps in the closet, along with a classic steamer-trunk she used for traveling.
Their lives seemed so real to me as I made my way from room to room. It appears as though they really lived life to its fullest. It would seem from the inventory that they not only enjoyed a very diverse array of activities ... but more importantly ... they enjoyed them together. What encouraging evidence to leave behind for those who would observe their relationship posthumously.
I will never know just how in love they were. I will never eat a meal with them or sit as they show the freshly developed photographs from their latest vacation. I will never watch as they comb their horses down after a late-afternoon ride, or laugh as they don their fencing suits and go at it with swords. No, I'll never get the opportunity to know them in the purest sense of the word
but ...
I did get to walk amongst all the memory-markers and imagine ...
and that was enough.
I hope that Mrs.Louise Menoiz would be happy to know that I respectfully took a little bit of her life back home with me to pass on to the next generation. The handmade mandolin, given to her for her 14th birthday in 1926, will provide our home with many moments of pleasure, music, and family. Those immortal qualities of life transcend the here and now and somehow provide me with a very tangible connection with the woman I never knew. There is something very authentic about this. I can't quite put my finger on it ... but it moves me. It is like getting a tiny glimpse of the grander script and how human lives touch and overlap in ways we don't even realize.
There seems to be something very spiritual about that ...
and the gift goes on ...
3 Comments:
What a great story Marlo. I, like yourself, can only hope that I collect friends and bits and pieces of others lives and entwine them with my own. It seems we come to know and love many and through each trial/tribulation, elation and sorrow we learn a little bit about ourselves and others and sew the patchwork quilt together for a great story to share with many. Thank you for your ministry and faith.
In his love,
Paula Harris
What a great story Marlo. I, like yourself, can only hope that I collect friends and bits and pieces of others lives and entwine them with my own. It seems we come to know and love many and through each trial/tribulation, elation and sorrow we learn a little bit about ourselves and others and sew the patchwork quilt together for a great story to share with many. Thank you for your ministry and faith.
In his love,
Paula Harris
What a great story Marlo. I, like yourself, can only hope that I collect friends and bits and pieces of others lives and entwine them with my own. It seems we come to know and love many and through each trial/tribulation, elation and sorrow we learn a little bit about ourselves and others and sew the patchwork quilt together for a great story to share with many. Thank you for your ministry and faith.
In his love,
Paula Harris
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