10/30/2014
Our son has a neighbor who lives across the street that is going financially out backwards. His house has been repossessed and was sold at auction. For the last five days, his house has been open to anybody with dollars in their pockets.
On the first day of selling, he had some super nice things - a Harley, grand piano, beautiful wood furniture, china, books and anything else you could think of, he had. At one time he owned an antique store, and he has been or is still selling on Ebay. Jeff, the boys and a neighbor of one of the boys went to his house last weekend and because the prices were fair, beautiful high end wood furniture was bought and a small trailer, among other things.
Each day since last weekend, this man has been selling whats left in his house, which is a lot. Jeff and I went with Andrew yesterday to look at what was still unsold. I have a love of old books. I love how they look. I love how they smell and the older the better. These are not books that I particularly intend to read, I just want them. I bought several books, one of which was published in 1919 and is yellow with age - excellent!
Each room we went into was a potential trip hazard. There was stuff all over the floor and some of the rooms didn't have overhead lights. He had several old manual typewriters that would have been fun to own, but I didn't bother to ask him the price, because I was pretty sure it would be high.
I came away with some old books, two pretty salad plates and a figurine of a grandmother and grandson sewing together. Nothing that I bought was going to change this man's finances. A dollar here, a dollar there type of things.
What bothered Jeff and I then and continues to do so today, is that walking into his house made us feel a bit queer. It felt as if we were walking over a grave - figuratively speaking. It seemed wrong on so many levels that this man's treasures were now being sold, at a rapid rate, for way less than they were worth.
If memory serves me correct, he has to be out of the house today. He is leaving with only what will fit in his pick-up truck, which isn't much. I don't know if the Sheriff comes and has the contents of the house thrown out into the street or whether some charity group will be the recipient of everything that is left.
What will remain with me forever is that no matter how high you climb, it's a very short slide back down.
P
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