It was an on again, off again rain day today—sun, rain, clouds, big rain, more sun, little rain, repeat. All this left Ray frustrated in his yard work effort so he suggested we check out some estate sales. I was ready for a little break too, so after consulting Craig's List, we headed west through the countryside toward the little town of Cornelius, where we found the earthly possessions of probably a pretty serious hoarder of stuff, spread out over a large property in tents and under canopies and piled along the fences and in the trees. Tools. The guy had hundreds of old, rusty tools. This is only the beginning of the tools.
Did I need these? Oh sure, I did. The tin snips probably aren't proper scissors, but they looked just right to me. (Unlike the other 8 or 10 pairs of tin snips). Ray found a couple of good tape measures— one for himself and one for grandson Marco, who is fascinated with measuring things. I felt a little guilty about such small purchases. It's going to take another thousand customers like us to make a dent in that mess of stuff.
It was lunch time, so we drove into Hillsboro to Ochoas, which tastes and looks and feels and sounds just like being in Mexico.
I always get the same thing—posole. It is a big serving and incredibly delicious. I've never been able to finish an entire bowl.
We moved on, further west to a pretty farm near Forest Grove.
In contrast to the other sale, this one was tidy and domestic in nature and clearly mostly the belongings of an industrious, home-loving woman. Lots of dishes and books, fabric and yarn, all carefully kept in ziplock bags. Sewing supplies stored in baskets and a knitting machine with full documentation.
I was charmed by the old Maytag wringer washer, but little else, in spite of obvious similar interests. In the end I brought home a bag containing yarn and a half-knitted sweater. It is yarn I would have chosen myself— soft, nubby cotton in my favorite soft aqua color. It saddens me that she never finished her sweater. Perhaps I will knit a soft shawl or wrap from the yarn. I can imagine that. Ray, who used to enjoy playing cribbage with his mom, came away with a well-used cribbage board. A pretty good day. The rain was over and done by the time we got home.
I wonder what the "stuff" I leave behind when I'm gone will say about me. There is something uncomfortably intimate about estate sales, especially seeing strangers pawing through the linens and contents of bathroom cabinets, and yet I feel something about the connectedness of people when their things move on to new lives with new people—and a small hope that someday the things I now use and love, will do the same.
Anyone want first dibs on my scissor collection??