Estate sales. They are similar to garage or yard sales, but different.
Usually, the owner(s) of the items in an estate sale is no longer around, and someone else is running the show. At garage or yard sales, the owners are right there with you to haggle with prices. “Seventy-five cents for this garden shovel? I’ll give you twenty-five!”
Recently, I breezed through several estate sales in my neck of the woods. Each offered something different: one had some fabulous kitchenware, another touted newer furniture, and one offered dental floss, first aid tape, and a sleeve of Saltine® crackers.
I wish I took a picture of the sleeve of crackers. Take my word for it: There was a naked sleeve of Saltine® crackers nestled between a coffee mug and a knife, sitting on the kitchen counter. No, it wasn’t even in the box. Asking price: Twenty-five cents.
Never have I ever seen something like that for sale. Somehow, I just wouldn’t trust its freshness, age, or bug-free quality.
©Susan Marie Molloy and all works within.
Image found on Internet; source unknown.
Reading the neighborhood paper this morning, one of my breakfast table mates commented on an article:
“This guy is eighty years old. Hmmmm. Just for Men Brown. Wow. And he’s still boxin’. Can you believe it?”
My first thought was the term “boxin'” is slang for using boxed hair color, such as Just for Men.
The article actually was about an eighty-year-old man who is still a pugilist.
I leaned over the breakfast table to see the photo of the man in the paper. Just for Men on his locks, too. Yeah. He’s still boxin’.
©2017 Susan Marie Molloy, and all works within.
By nightfall, the gentle daytime breezes intensified. The winds pushed, slammed, and whipped against the house and stockade fence and made trees and shrubs dance a weird tarantella. Greenish-blue lightning glowed at varying intervals, and the night sky had an eerie, almost gothic, feel.
A lone gecko took shelter on the screened porch.
The hurricane’s eye passed over the neighborhood during the night, and morning from my front room windows revealed no damage, except for some neighbors’ fences that were pulled up or twisted. The chug-chugga-chugga-chug-chug of a neighbor’s gas generator in his driveway was the only non-nature sound in the neighborhood for hours. Wind gusts through the afternoon managed to send fences creaking grotesquely.
The electric was out for almost nineteen or twenty hours, and restored in time for when the mandatory curfew expired. This period was an eye-opener on how much we depend on electricity: No coffee maker, no laundry, no cellphone-charging.
I did, however, read a few chapters of a good book that was made into a movie. It’s sure to become a favorite of mine.
Life seems to be getting back to normal here.
Note for future power outages: Remove and empty the ice maker and tray so melting ice doesn’t drip across the kitchen floor.
©2017 Susan Marie Molloy and all works within.