We are taught that coveting is wrong. It says so in the Good Book. It’s written on thin rice-paper pages, a command. “Thou shalt be happy with what you have.” A reminder that we should not let our wandering eyes want what our neighbor has.
His wife.
His donkey.
His vintage metal glider sitting on the porch.
By nature, I am a happy person. However, there are some things I have always wanted that I never obtained. As a child, I wanted a Mrs. Beasley Doll with a blue polka-dot dress and a pull-string between her shoulders that forced her to speak to lonely children across the world. Later, I wanted a cool record player, and then a horse to ride, and dare I forget crying at the end of every single Lassie episode as the credits brought the show to a close. Every evening a waterfall of tears dripped from my chin and my heart threatened to break into smithereens. I was not a spoiled child, or I would have had a Mrs. Beasley doll, a record player and a real-live-horse. However, my parents were so worried about my weeping that they did bring home a collie, which of course we named Lassie. Mom let her have babies, which I had the responsibility of caring for and then crying over when they found new homes.
As an adult, I’ve been content with life and what I’ve not only earned by sweat and tears, but also the gifts the Good Lord bestowed, despite my unworthiness. However, I blame my covetousness for earthly possessions on a new found obsession: estate sales.
During a time when people are downsizing and decluttering, Renea says, “I can use that.” Just last week a friend asked if I might be interested in receiving ornament-making supplies. A loved one in her family had passed. No one in the family was crafty, or even cared about carrying on the tradition of making ornaments and gifting them each year. Craft supplies are hard to find and if you can find them, they are expensive. These gifted Styrofoam balls, beaded pins, and sequins will eventually come together to form a kaleidoscope of holiday colors that shimmer when placed on a tree. I don’t know why people don’t care about homemade items these days. I sure do. Homemade ornaments last longer than store-bought and carry fond memories with them.
For the record, I am not a hoarder, It’s just that I don’t like waste. Why toss something in the landfill when, given enough time, I can find a home for useful items? When people ask, “Could you use canning jars? Ornament-making supplies? Empty buckets? Heritage seeds? The response is always a resounding, YES!
However, estate sales can feel like a WWF wrestling match between Wahoo McDaniel (who was an Appalachian favorite), and Nature Boy, Rick Flair. One quickly finds herself picking through remnants of someone’s life with other like-minded folk who are all saying, “I can use that;” which, if we are honest is actually, “I can resell that item for a tidy profit.”
This particular sale was displayed online in hundreds of photographs. There was china and flatware, sheets and sandals, linens and lamps, couches and comforters. As I scrolled through the online gallery, my eyes locked onto a piece of furniture I’ve wanted for years.
A vintage metal glider.
Y’all remember them, right? Metal gliders were heavy as a boat anchor and sometimes featured patterns which were as decorative as stained glass. At the end of the day all across America, folk sat in gliders while sipping tea, lemonade, or even an adult beverage. They took just a few moments after dinner to reflect at the end of a hard day and perhaps discuss their version of the American Dream.
Somewhere along the way, we stopped sitting on porches, stopped breathing in a little peace at the end of the day, stopped sipping a little beverage as we glide back and forth while surrounded by plush seat cushions. I aimed to fix that at my place.
These days, a vintage metal glider costs a fortune, as do the replicas. Fortunately, this estate sale had so many items, and limited parking. These barriers forced the company to run this particular liquidation as an online-auction. With online sales, there is a limited window of opportunity. The sale opens, and ends, at a specific time. Bidders set a maximum amount for the item they hope to win, with the ability to rebid should their offer fall short due to another buyer who is more eager to purchase the item.
No one is more eager than me! There it was. Something I had wanted for years and possibly at an affordable price. Admittedly, the glider had seen better days; heck, it had seen better decades. The item description clearly stated it was “off the track” and would not move. No gliding for me, but I didn’t care. Doing what I always do before I purchase a broken-down piece of something that others call junk, I visited poppa and pulled up the estate sale on his computer. Giving him a computer at age 82 was perhaps the best thing we ever did. Shoulder to shoulder, we sat, scrolling through the items. You know, just in case Poppa might also need something when the bidding began.
“Now this is what I’m getting,” I pointed to the screen. “I don’t care how much it costs. She’s coming home with me. And look, she’s yellow. That’s a sign if there ever was one that she belongs to me. Yellow makes me happy. And get a load of the pattern on the seats. Don’t you love her?”
Poppa leaned closer to the screen and we enlarged the photo. “Not much rust,” he said with a pause to spit in an empty 7Up bottle. “I can fix it.”
Of course he can. My Poppa can fix anything.
Bidding began at midnight. I slept on the couch with an alarm set for 11:55 because all I needed was a computer glitch preventing me from logging into my account. I’d told my friends about the sale only after they assured me they were not interested in purchasing my glider. Six other people were following my glider. I placed my bid and accomplished nothing that day as I monitored the sale until it ended at 7 p.m. As the sale closed, I was the highest bidder! It seems no one wanted a broken-down-glider. Bless her unloved heart!
The following day, I rode with my co-worker to the property. She knew exactly where the property was located and had borrowed her husband’s truck. Within minutes we loaded the items she won into the back of the vehicle and then my beautiful, faded, broken-down glider no one wanted. I held the frame as Poppa repaired the broken track. She glides just like new thanks to four pieces of hardware totaling less than three dollars. I’ve contacted someone who is going to restore her color to a glorious sunny yellow.
I’ve never been happier.