I’ve been going to estate sales for about fifteen years. At first, I thought it was kind of creepy and weird to go shop the belongings of a deceased person you did not know until a friend said to me, “If you died, wouldn’t you want your stuff to go to somebody who really appreciated it rather than shoved in a bag and put on the curb?” Yes, I would.
Over those years, I’ve been to some doozies. I’ve gone into a dirt floor basement that was S.P.O.O.K.Y. and The Teacher Girl would have no part of it. I’ve been in the home of a woman who loved cats and moth balls and the combined scent nearly knocked you over when you crossed the threshold.
There is no predicting what you will find at an estate sale. I’ve seen antiques and jewelry for thousands of dollars, and expired boxes of diarrhea medication. Last year, I found some AWESOME OLD IRON GARDEN CHAIRS for $5.00 each that stopped me in my tracks. They were on the patio on a freezing cold February day and nobody wanted to go outside. Except me. To get those chairs. Like The Big Daddy going fishing, it’s all about hunting for The One. And I love to hunt.
Estate sales have become more competitive since Ebay, with shoppers thinking that they’re going to find that dirt cheap antique that’s worth a million and will fund their retirement. That just doesn’t happen. The people running these things know exactly what something is worth. Because of that, I rarely go on the first day. I detest paying full price for anything, and don’t want to battle some old guy in the garage over a rusty tool box.
This week I went to a sale and sitting by its lonesome on a trunk in the dining room was this, and how in the world could anybody pass up this beauty?
