At the sale we did have an unusual
experience. Now usually people have an
estate sale when the owner has died and the heirs have collected all the family
pieces they want. Estate sale companies
then come in, price everything, and man the site in garage sale format. This one had numerous beautiful antique
furniture pieces, although nothing that even came close to what Chris was
looking for. There was lots of art on
the walls, both paintings and prints.
There were even several sculptures.
You don’t see that too often.
There was an artist’s studio set up over the detached garage. It had more sculptures (really expensive
ones) along with paints and canvases. And
the garage itself was lined with old books along with the requisite tools and
lawn equipment. Now about the books. I have to confess that is where I spent the
bulk of my time. Some of the books were
fascinating. Some were very old, even from
the 19th century. Others were
more recent, but a lot of the more recent ones had a charm of their own. Many of them were all about conspiracy
theories and mysterious findings and, how shall I say it? … “creative”
speculations. There were books on the
Lincoln and Kennedy assassination conspiracies.
Several on UFO’s. There was
obviously a particular interest in the Lost Island of Atlantis. And among the artsy-type books were numerous ones
on Salvadore Dali. Needless to say, although
we had never met, I liked this person a lot.
With a few books in hand, we left the
garage and went back into the house. We
still had an entire second floor to investigate. As it turned out, only two rooms up there were
open to the sale, a bedroom and a library of sorts adjoining it. As we entered the library, to check out even
more books of course, we saw two ladies, each with a book in her hands. One nodded politely as we entered and left
the room. The other, however, was alternately
chuckling and sighing and silently muttering to herself as she leafed through
volume after volume. The thing that
really caught my attention was her comment, “Oh, dear. What HAVE I gotten myself into.” As we worked our way closer to her, she
exclaimed, “Oh, would you look at this,” and held out the book of artwork for us
to see. I had no idea what the picture
was, but she was excited about it, so I said something witty and charming along
the lines of “Wow, amazing.” And from the
moment I opened my mouth, we had a new best friend. But this was not just any old lady. She identified herself as … are you ready for
this? … the owner of the house. Spooky,
huh? Now I don’t think she was a ghost, although
she did look somewhat older than me, but in these old Galveston homes, one can
never be too sure. And it is almost
October. She was quite chatty, too. Chris admired one of the old dresses hanging
nearby. Our new friend went into a
monologue about how she wore that particular one back in the 60’s when “we
called them our slinkies.” Chris
commented that some of the others must have been what she wore during Mardi
Gras. That brought an explanation of her
penchant for “getting into character” by wearing the “appropriate” period dress
when she served as a docent for things like Egyptian museum exhibit openings. Chris finally asked the question that had
been burning in our minds since she appeared.
“Are you the owner?” I couldn’t have
been more intrigued as I leaned forward to hear her answer. A bubbly, “Yes” was her immediate reply, and
she followed that up with a little history of how she had lived in the house
for twelve years. She was from the Dallas
area and intended to move up there to be closer to grandchildren. Now some of her history seemed a little strange
to me. She explained that her daughter
had inherited the house. OK. Then she said her daughter needed the money
so she decided to sell the house.
OK. Then she said she bought the
house. Now I’m totally confused. She bought it from her daughter? After the daughter inherited it? So who willed it to the daughter? Was her timeline a little messed up here? Was she … Wait a minute. That was all a little too creepy for me. We ended our conversation amiably, wishing
her well in her new haunt up in Dallas … Hmm.
(No, I didn’t really say that to her, but I thought it).
1 John 5:13 says, “I write these things to you who believe in the name of the Son of God
so that you may know that you have eternal life.”
Father, thank you for assurances like these
that we can know what lies ahead of us.
And I’m so glad my future will be with you and not shuffling around a
dusty old library reminiscing about days gone by. Amen.
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