The Sight of Sun Sparkling on Cut Glass

The set of dishes for 16 in the drawer under the stove has not been used for several years. This morning I called a daughter to see if she wanted them and she does. I found 12 clear pink etched glass plates at a garage sale yesterday for $10. They are so pretty I bought them. The lady that sold them had bought all the books for her six college kids with her art work, she knew what she was selling. Her aunt had them in her house as long as she could recall. I think they must have been a grocery store premium at one time. They will replace the unused dishes in the stove drawer and I will use them next Tuesday night for expected company.

The garage sales at which I find good stuff just drives He Who Must Be Obeyed nuts. I found another oil painting that he had to hang on the back fence and a miniature to go with the little grouping in my bathroom. The little outdoor toilet watercolors, my artist aunt painted on Christmas cards over thirty years ago, had to be moved around. One thing leads to another. There is some conventional wisdom for you..."One thing leads to another."

The philosophy of social order reveals itself in garage sales. I will never have one for two reasons: a. it is too publicly revealing and b. I believe in giving away, not selling. I would be a natural at a potlatch.

Yesterday a nice lady in a lower middle class part of town sold her mother's cut glass bowls and creme and sugar set for pocket change. People who sell their parent's or older relatives things, in order to get them into nursing homes, have people like myself who buy them to cherish for a few years before my own kids sell it again to get me into a nursing home. Being the kid of 'Depression' parents, we are starved for things. The men can't get enough tools and the women can't get enough 'pretty dishes.' My dad made his own tools in his blacksmith shop and I ate off of chipped china. That stays with you. I cannot abide a chipped dish. I do appreciate hand smithed tools though. I am at odds with my own materialism.

Buying the same things in an antique or second-hand store does not have the same impact. There it all looks pathetic. On a table in the driveway with the sun shining on it makes it magical.

Maybe it is the relationships, no matter how momentary. Yesterday I visited with a woman, a decade younger than myself, who six years ago, with her husband, bought a power station from the power company to turn into a home. It was in a neighborhood of tudor brick homes and was my idea of a perfect adventure. Brick inside and out, concrete floors and ceilings, no heat, two windows, meeting city codes was tricky, she said. I admire their pioneer spirtit even if they find it chilly in the midwest winters. An artist had worked with them to create the gargoyles and wrought iron enclusure for courtyard. I found a treasure there as well, Chinese blue and white pottery with maker's marks on the bottom. Without the lid she didn't want it. To me it was beautiful.

Instead of a thesis on the philosophy of garage sales, perhaps I should figure out why I go to them. I suspect I know. It is the sight of sun sparkling on cut glass.