Tag Archives: collector of objects

A DREAM COME TRUE

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When I retired from work at sixty-two, I thought now I could finally relax and enjoy the good life. I will spend all my time reading, painting, writing, and all of my other hobbies. That had I put off all of my working years.

But it didn’t take long before I realized that although I was retired from working forty hours a week, I still had to take care of cleaning and maintaining my home and my garden. I still had to pay the bills. I still had to go food shopping etc, etc, etc.

But what I did make time for was going to estate sales and yard sales. Because I decided that Saturday was going to be my day off. I’m not sure why I loved this activity so much, but I did. Perhaps because it always felt like it was a treasure hunt. And I came to look forward to Saturday mornings with great anticipation. Oh, the thrill of the hunt. 

And so, every Friday morning, I would take a walk down to the local store and buy the newspaper and read the garage sale ads in the classified section of the newspaper. And then, I would write a list of all the local estate and yard sales and their locations and write the directions down so I could drive from one sale to the next.

One of the interesting things that I found out after a short period of time was that there were so many like-minded people going to estate sales, especially in the well-to-do locations. Because there was always a possibility that I might find a real treasure that I recognized their true value and others wouldn’t.

Most estate sale buyers had particular items that they collected. Anything was possible, and they might collect comic books or cookbooks, jewelry, antiques or cameras, and teapots. Really there was no end to the objects that people collected.

Oh, and there was always excitement in the air as the shoppers waited in line outside as the time got closer to open the doors to the public. Most often, there was a limit to how many people could enter the house at any given time. If the house was located in an exclusive high-end home, people really became impatient waiting outside for their chance to enter the home. God forbid anyone cut into line the crowd because they could really get rowdy. You were always afraid that someone would find that perfect treasure. The one you have been hunting for all along.

I looked for anything that was out of the ordinary or unusual. Anything from a chandelier to original art. As people slowly entered the house, the first few people who went in would emerge. Sometimes they would have a triumphant look on their faces or sometimes disappointed. But, you always held out hope that you would finally get that one special object that would complete your collection, no matter what you collected. Or even better, something that was worth a great deal of money, and you could sell it and make a profit.

Then finally, I was number one in line outside the front door. The house was a big, old Victorian home. I just loved the Victorian houses. They were so interesting, and they were all unique. People walked around examining each item that was for sale. It was a treasure hunt for us all.

I had been searching for a Victorian chandelier for my dining room for quite a while. And the moment I entered the living room and I saw the double doors that led to the formal dining room, I saw it. And it was the most beautiful crystal chandelier hanging from the dining room ceiling. And it was perfect. I looked for one of the people running the sale. As I wanted to buy the chandelier before anyone else did. I saw someone in the dining room looking up at the chandelier and checking out the price, and then they whistled and walked away.

I hurried through the double doors to the dining room. The dining room table and chairs were definitely original and almost in perfect condition. On the center of the table, there was a circular burn. It looked like someone had placed a hot dish or container directly on the table. I was standing there shaking my head when I heard someone say, “oh, what a shame. I wonder if it would be possible to have that burn repaired?” I said, “I don’t know, but I would definitely offer a lower price than their asking for it. And then possibly you could have it repaired. It really is a beautiful table, and the chairs look like they have the original seat covers. And they are in excellent shape.” 

“Yes, yes, they do. I love them. I think I might make an offer and see what happens. Good luck. I hope you find something you love as well.”

“Thank you, and I see quite a few things that I would love to get. But my budget is limited. Good luck, I hope you are able to buy the dining room set.”

I saw a woman that looked like she was in charge of the sale, and I walked over to her. “Hello, I’m interested in the crystal chandelier. “Can I make an offer on it?”

“Yes, of course. But you will have to wait until the end of the day to see if your offer has been accepted. If someone makes a higher offer. You could lose it. That would be a shame, and it is a one-of-a-kind chandelier. It is original to the house.”

“Really, well, I definitely will make an offer.”

“Well, there is a woman in the office through that door. She will take your contact information and cell phone number and let you know the outcome. Good luck.”

So, I went through the door. I walked over to the woman at the desk and told her I wanted to make an offer on the crystal chandelier. She handed me a paper, and I wrote down my offer and my cellphone number. She said, “It is a beautiful piece, good luck. There are two more floors. Maybe you’ll find something else that you like.”

I nodded and headed toward the kitchen. There was a small pantry with a table and chair. I was starting to fall in love with this house. It certainly was unique. I wondered how much they were asking for it. And if there was any way I could win the lottery and buy this home.

I walked back to the front door and headed up the stairs to the second floor. At the top of the steps, there was a long hallway with three opened doors. Wow, this house was amazing. The first door opened to a small bedroom that was illuminated by the morning sun. Unfortunately, it had horrible wallpaper throughout the whole room. Aside from that, it was empty. But, I was able to see the possibilities of the room. There was a large closet in the room. And the floor throughout the house had the original wood floors. And I believed that with hard work, they could be restored.

I walked down to the next door and I pushed it open it was the biggest bathroom I had ever seen, but unfortunately, one of my fellow shoppers was sitting on the toilet and going to the bathroom. Before I backed out of the room, I noticed a beautiful tub and shower. The room was black and white with even more hideous wallpaper on the walls. I said, “good lord, who picked out all the hideous wallpaper.?”It looked like it was from the turn of the nineteenth century.

At the end of the hallway, there stood a set of black, wrought iron gates that reached from the floor to the ceiling. I couldn’t imagine what might be behind them. At one end of the hallway to the right a closet that had a door on it and a window. It was empty save for an iron radiator. I gazed out the window and saw a side garden with huge overgrown evergreens and what looked like a balcony on the facing wall.

I left the closet and returned to the hallway and the next closed door. I heard people milling about behind the door. I walked through the entrance, and there was yet another bedroom. It was large and empty. There were about ten people looking around and peeping into the large, empty closet. I couldn’t understand why they were holding an estate sale since there didn’t seem to be anything for sale. And it occurred to me at that moment that they were trying to sell this huge, empty house. As I walked across the room, there was a set of double doors and a balcony. The doors were locked. But I could see the backyard from the balcony. There was a large garage beyond the small backyard.

I saw another door in the bedroom, and it led to a small bathroom. This house certainly had no shortage of doors, rooms, and bathrooms. It was the largest house I had ever been in. And that’s saying a lot because I had gone to a hundred estate sales over the years. All the people who had been standing in line outside were now in the house. And it didn’t seem crowded at all. That’s how big this house was.

There was a wooden door to the right I opened the door, and at least fifty people stood inside the room. It was absolutely the largest room I had ever seen in my life. There was a huge black chandelier hanging from the ceiling in the middle of the room. And there was a fireplace on the back wall. The walls appeared to have a surface that looked like spackled cement or something similar to that. The window on the far wall was unbelievably big, and the rest of the wall was covered in floor-to-ceiling bookshelves. I felt small in this room. The view outside the huge window was blocked by two tall trees. But I could see the neighbor’s house across the street.

I walked to the middle of the room and stood there simply amazed by the sheer size of the room and the number of people milling about. Who all had the same amazed look on their faces as I did. I decided to walk back down the hall and go up to what I believed was a door to the third floor. And it turned out that there was indeed a third floor that ran the length of the house. And above that was an attic. I couldn’t believe how huge this house was. I wondered who lived here before and what they did with all the rooms.

And the longer I stood in the middle of this room, the more I realized that this house, this magnificent house, was going to be my house; somehow, some way, I was going to make it happen. And as I stood there and imagined living here, I imagined all the beautiful and unusual artifacts I would be able to find at estate sales and all the fun I would have finding them. And that, my friends, is how I came to find and buy the home of my dreams.

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Lost And Found

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I decide to spend the day at the Philadelphia Central Library. I‘ve been working on my family history for the past ten years. I wanted to search the census records for the period of time between 1900 and 1920. I’m in the process of researching my father’s side of the family.

I know that my father was an only child and had been raised from the age of seven until he was sixteen at Girard College. During that time Girard College was a residential boy’s school. The only requirement being that one of their parents was deceased. His father had passed away when he was five from uremic poisoning in 1916.

It’s a beautiful crisp autumn day, so I decided to take the high-speed line over to Philly.  I arrive about a half hour before the library opens. I  walk around the corner to grab something to eat for breakfast at Whole Foods first.

I buy a small container of yogurt, and green tea. Whole Foods is a fabulous food store but they’re  pricey. It cost almost six dollars for these two items. I eat the yogurt quickly as I hadn’t eaten any dinner the night before. The tea is very hot so I sip slowly. It’s delicious. I’m something of a tea connoisseur. At any given moment I can name fifty different brands and types of teas.

Unfortunately, very few people seem particularly interested in hearing my list. Although some have suffered in silence as I listed them in alphabetical order. I know that they don’t want to hear it, but somehow, I feel compelled to tell them. I see first their eyes shift from right to left looking for a way out of the conversation. It isn’t really a conversation more of a monologue.

I give them very little chance to break away. I keep talking at break neck speed. I see their eyes glazing over. I know that they aren’t listening anymore. But still I persist naming my favorite teas, or pies, or ice cream. I have a list for just about any subject.

I decide to walk across the street to the Book Corner a used bookstore operated by the Central Library. It’s filled with used and donated books. Oh yes, I forgot to mention that I also collect books. Books fill every inch of space in my two-bedroom apartment.  They are stacked on and under tables and chairs.  They also live under my bed and on the side of my bed, that I don’t sleep on.

People have told me that I’m a hoarder of books. I disagree, I‘m a bibliophile. I love the feel, smell and touch of old books. My favorite books are art books with full color plates of art, every type of art and every period of history.

I’m a collector of many things, mostly useless facts that no one wants to hear or know about. I almost purchase a book on Jasper Johns one of my favorite abstract expressionist artist. But I talked myself out of it. Since I already had this self-same book at home in one of my piles.

I start walking up the street behind the library and I see something on the sidewalk. I quickstep up to it and lean over and pick it up. It is a watch, a beautiful watch.

I don’t own valuable jewelry myself, but I certainly recognize quality when I see it. It’s gold, a women’s watch, with a mesh watchband. There are twenty-eight small diamonds surrounding the watch face. There is a small stone on the stem of the watch. I think a blue Topaz. I turned over the watch and looked on the back there is an inscription.

It reads: To BLJ, from JPO, and then some words in French. My high school French is somewhat rusty. I graduated quite a few decades ago. I decide to type the French phrase into Google translator when I finally get into the library.

I arrive at the library. I fly up the wide steps and push open the beautiful ornate bronze doors. I’m never disappointed when I enter the library. It has been recently remodeled. The first floor is amazing. The new entry floor is gleaming marble. There are all new showcases. I look in each one and study its contents. This one contains the most beautiful African sculptures. They are like Haiku to me, so few words, but they speak volumes.

Oh, and I see a notice that declares that there is going to be a visit from an author. I definitely will sign up for that. I’ll purchase a copy of her book and have it autographed by her. I feel slightly buzzed being around all this beauty, and the thousands upon thousands of stacks of books, on every subject.

I should have been a librarian, but I wouldn’t have gotten any work done. I would have been reading all day instead of whatever librarians are supposed to be doing. Besides I have observed that librarians are a bit on the strange side. They are either very quirky or annoyed by visitors. If I worked here, I would be probably a little of both and get fired after a month.

I check my pocket to see if my treasure is still there. It is, but I know that I will check my pocket many times just to be sure. It is one of my quirky traits, excessive checking on things. Checking to see if I really locked the door or turned off the iron or didn’t accidentally run over a cat that I thought was a bump in the road. I ‘m just cautious that’s all.

I enter the main book room next to the entrance. I rush over to the computer and go onto the Internet, Google translator. I type in the phase Mon amour éternel. It means my eternal love. God, that is so romantic. The poor soul that lost this must be heartbroken. Imagine losing such a wonderful keepsake.

I almost start to cry right there in the middle of the library. I imagine what it must be like to have someone promise their eternal love. I have never had that. I want it. It is almost a physical ache. And now I know it is probably too late for me.

Still, I keep my eyes open you never know what might happen. I want to find a way to return the watch to the owner but I don’t know what to do.

I approach the man who works at the main information desk. He’s one of the standoffish types, very formal. I ’m not certain but I believe he has some type of vision impairment or he just can’t endure looking into anyone’s eyes.

“Hello, could you tell me if there is a lost and found ?”

He doesn’t look at me or acknowledge my presence in any way. He starts typing on his keyboard. Perhaps he has a hearing deficit as well. I repeat my question only louder. Nothing.

Then somewhat abruptly he says, “No book by that name but several containing that subject matter. Let me print it out for you. ”

“What? No, no you misunderstood. I am asking if the library has a lost and found? You know you find or loose something and check to see if anyone turned it in, or you find something and turn it in. ”

“Go to service desk they might have an answer for you, I do not. ”

“But isn’t this the service desk?” I roll my eyes to the heavens. It’s lost on him. He has dismissed me from his mind. I no longer exist in his world. In my opinion the library has made a poor choice when they placed him in the central hall information desk. He should be sitting in the subbasement somewhere filing something.

I walk over to the main room again and over to a librarian. There are only two librarians now, since most of them were replace by an automated check out system. I wait patiently in line, until it is my turn. I repeat my question. “Do you have a lost and found department?”

“Sir this is the check in or check out department. You need to go to the service desk and ask Mr. Beaumont he will be happy to assist you.”

“But I did speak to Mr. Beaumont. He didn’t assist me. He sent me to you. What do you suggest now?”

“Perhaps you could ask Charles, at the exit to the library. He is the guard that checks all books as you exit the library.”

“Charles, thank you I will speak to him.” I walk over to the library exit and Charles is sitting looking through a large stack of books that an older gentleman is checking out.

I have seen this man before. He looks like an aesthetic or perhaps the English actor who is tall and thin who plays some sort of magician in Lord of the Rings. He has very long shiny gray hair, down to his waist.

I have often seen him when I visited the art department of the library. He always keeps to himself. He is surrounded by books. He spends the day taking notes in a leather notebook. I patiently wait my turn. Finally, I step up to Charles.

“Hello, can you tell me if the library has a lost and found?” As I’m waiting, I check my pocket again to make sure the watch is there.

“Yes, what are you looking for?”

“I am not looking for anything, I found something.”

“Well I can’t help you with that, other than you can write it down. Here write down what you have found on this form and a contact phone number or email. I will give them your information.”

“Alright, let’s do that.” I finally feel like I am making some headway. I give Charles my information. “Thank you, Charles, you have been very helpful.”

I head over to the elevator, push the button for the second floor and wait as it slowly makes its way down from the third floor. The doors slide open. They remodeled the elevator too and it looks like it belongs in a luxury hotel. I step inside. Somehow it has not lost that urine smell it always had. I hold my breath until the doors open to the second floor.

I make a right turn down the first hall, through the literature and find my way into the art department. Oh crap, I think what am I doing here I meant to go to the records department and study the census. I head to the elevator and back to the records department.

I arrive safely, I step up to the desk and ask the librarian to help me find the census for 1900-1920. She is very helpful. I look at the records which are digital copies of the original census books. However, the books were all hand written in script and somewhat difficult to read.

I spend the next three hours looking through them, meeting with some success. I find the record where my father is listed as an inmate of Girard College. An inmate, as if he were a criminal in prison. This upsets me so much, that I turn off the machine and decide to head home.

I buy a hotdog from the vender on the corner, such a cheerful fellow. “Thank you.”

I walk towards the bus stop that will get me to the high Speedline. I arrive at the Speedline intact.  I believe I checked my pocket about fifteen times, before I get on the train.

I notice that my stomach is starting to feel a little queasy and by the time we get over the bridge to the Camden stop, I know that I have gotten some kind of food poisoning from the hotdog. I rush off the train and am forced to use the public facility.

Dear god I hope will I be able to make it home! I do, but just barely. I take some medicine for my stomach. It doesn’t really help. I spend the next ten hours in the bathroom. Finally, I start to feel better. I go in the kitchen. I feel so empty. I decide to have some Earl Grey tea, and dry crackers.

I check my email, to my surprise I have five hundred emails. I open the first one. Bill declares it is his watch and he wants it back. I open the next ten. They are all the same. I realize that I have made a mistake in describing the watch. Chivalry has died and so has my trust in humanity. I will put the watch away or perhaps donate it to some worthwhile Charity. I think of the woman who lost her watch and say a silent prayer for her. She has lost something that was close to her heart and so have I.