My bone density results are essentially the same as the last time I was scanned. I see that as an opportunity for me to straighten up and fly right. But I haven't straightened up.
(An eerie window photo taken in Houston of mannequins who looked to be made of ceramic.)
Today I spent the day with my mother, my sister, and my aunt. We went to a couple of estate sales, timing our visits so we could get the 50% discount. Tomorrow the discount will be 75% but you're taking a risk in waiting if there is something you really want.
On one hand, I find going to estate sales fun and interesting. There are bargains to be had. Perhaps bargains on things you didn't know you needed, but still, bargains. I found a London Fog rain/trench coat with a removable lining. I'd been looking for something like that for a while but didn't want to pay the prices I'd seen. This one cost me $7.50. I'd also been looking for a used typewriter that worked and I found one today, an electric one, for $12.50. I want to use it to type things for collage work. The thing I found that I didn't know I needed was a four foot level with a ruler along one of the sides. Weirdo that I am, levels have always appealed to me. I have a couple of smaller ones...somewhere. I've played with the one on my phone. I'll use this one to keep track of the poles on my quilting to frame to make sure they are level.
On the other hand, there is something sad about seeing people digging through the detritus of a deceased person. I noticed it is often times older people who are looking for the treasures. Surely they have already accumulated enough of their own stuff? I know I have, and I don't know how to defend myself from my own complaint. Except maybe to say there is something virtuous in buying used goods? I'm there, digging for my own treasures, even as I look at the others with pity and wonder what empty spot they are trying to fill by buying things they didn't know they needed until they saw them at the estate sale.
One of the sales we went to today was that of a family member of the company my father worked for all of his adult working life. They were a kind couple as far as I've ever heard. I'd been around them as a child at company picnics. She gave us a lovely Martha Washington bedspread for our wedding. I still have it...somewhere. In fact, I'd seen in the pictures posted of items for the sale that there was one for sale. Briefly I thought about hoping to buy it if the price was right. Hers was pristine as the day it was purchased. Why do we (some of us) think we need things to remind us of special moments and the generosity of people around us? I'd like to be better at letting go of the physical reminders. Too often those reminders become clutter that weighs us down.
I bought the London Fog coat from their sale. I can wear that and remember those two people who I did not know well, but who left indelible marks on my family simply because my father worked for him for so many years.
He was the first to die.
I bought the typewriter from their sale. There was a paper in the typewriter. The words said something about the typewriter needing assistance. There was a note that the "X" key had gotten stuck but it had released itself. We laughed because we thought another customer had plugged the typewriter in to see if it worked and left the notes for future customers. I kept the note. I thought I'd paste into my journal, my own bit of detritus from the day.
But when I got home, I had time to read the rest of the note. Here is what it said:
I'm glad to have uncovered the typewriter and need to plan to use it more.I'd tell myself I was glad to have uncovered the typewriter and that I needed to plan to use it more.
But then, this (as typed, she mentioned elsewhere that her skills were rusty):
Now, howdvdr, I need to get some supper ready, and then go to the Guardian House to see Bill.I see a poignant glimpse of love. And I feel their loss, as I have felt my own loss.
What I have learned, what I continue to learn, is that fear of loss is no reason to run from love.
