I have long admitted — bragged, really — that our home is furnished entirely in an “early auction and thrift store” aesthetic. I like to think my style is traditional: quality wood furniture, unique art, fine china, stacks of books, linens and chinoiserie.
I could be fooling myself. Perhaps, my style actually screams “no money.” Or perhaps it illustrates that we DO save money because we don’t overpay for things like end tables, luncheon sets and quilts. I prefer to save my disposable income for things like groceries, heat and tiny coats for my dogs.
This explains my latest obsession: estate sales. I mentioned shopping an estate sale in a recent column, and readers were eager to learn more. People are so curious. I understand. I too am nosey.
Snoop
Estate sales are essentially voyeuristic. If yard sales are the belongings people rejected from their lives, an estate sale is what they felt was worth keeping.
It’s fun to do some sleuthing about the owner(s). I like poring through someone’s life. Every picture, side table and sweater has a story. I browse their bookshelves. What did they study?
A closet offering over two dozen identical and very expensive dress shirts speaks to a career spent in a suit and tie. The garage full of fishing gear and “World’s Best Grandpa” plaque speaks to a life well loved. We burrow through their garage belongings. We can, quite literally, walk in their shoes.
In some homes, I see clothing that is my style. I see art, dishes and furniture I gravitate to. At some sales, it seems the prior owner and I have nearly identical tastes. I often leave wondering if we would have been friends. I do hope he or she knows I appreciate their lovingly collected homes.
The perspective of “you can’t take it with you” can’t help but hit, as we look over a property piled with “stuff.” At the end of our homemaking lives, the fact remains across all socio-economic sectors. We all have far too many Tupperware lids and cans of old paint.
Speaking of things that won’t die, durability is one of the key reasons to shop secondhand. There is so much truth in the old adage “they just don’t make things like they used to.”
To my younger friends and family, I evangelize dovetail drawers, solid wood, hand stitching and hand tools manufactured in a time when they were warrantied for life. I am also fascinated by collections, be they perfume bottles, croquet sets or old yearbooks. Purdue ‘51 anyone?
GirlWonder has become enamored of high-quality costume jewelry of the last century. We say, with much love, that if the ring, earrings or necklaces look like they were worn by an octogenarian named “Edna,” our girl will make a beeline to them. She gets endless compliments on her style.
In the last week alone, I, or a member of my Thrift Gang (our gang colors are tweed), have haggled over a big 1950s-era Coldspot refrigerator (it was gorgeous. Pink interior even!) and a 1970s-era Harvest Gold deep freezer big enough to house a small car — or endless bodies (for the discriminating serial killer). Both pieces were built like tanks.
We were THIS close to making the deal (a steal really). It all ended when careful consideration proved there was no way to actually get these items OUT of the basement of the house. Those built-to-last appliances will sell with the house and probably outlast us all.
Estate sales are a chance to visit some truly stunning homes and properties. Last weekend, we prowled through a property perched so high on a hill that shoppers had to be shuttled up the driveway. The view was breathtaking. This must be what it feels like to live among the clouds. The finishes were exquisite. The house was so huge we walked through three times just to make sure we didn’t miss anything.
Sell
Throughout the house and garage, various members of the estate sale staff repeatedly assured me “the property is also for sale!” I couldn’t help but smile. I am flattered that they think I am in the market for this million dollar home when I am currently haggling with them over a $2 dish towel.
In the end, an estate sale is defined as a true estate sale if the owner is deceased. If the owner is living, then it’s technically a “tag sale.” Many people use the terms interchangeably.
I try not to think too much about it as I peruse the flotsam and jetsam of strangers’ lives. I’m just here for their books and bird statues, thank you very much. Whatever their reasons for parting with their possessions, I like to think they have gone to a better place. Be that Heaven or Boca Raton.
