Vulture

Starting in September, once a week I will be teaching recycled sewing and crafts to ten homeschooled freaks children. I volunteered for the position, mostly because I'm a sucker, and no one else wanted to do it. I'm pretty sure most people do it to receive free classes for their own children. I'm not sure which reason is better. Pete thinks I volunteered simply so I have a handy reason to explain the water bottles and soda cans I leave scattered piled throughout the house. He's wrong. I need no excuses for my messy laziness, I own that shit.

In theory, I love the idea of recycling objects for new projects. It costs a lot less than buying new materials, it keeps all sorts of crap out of landfills, and it's kinda neat breathing new life into what was once a discard pile. In practice, I suck and my house is becoming a landfill. That doesn't stop my sporadic scouring for old vintage fabrics, toys and ephemera to be (theoretically) torn, ripped, or cut apart and reassembled or assimilated into something that will make people say "What??". (I go for the art explanation, that way when people think I'm fucking nuts for turning ugly old sweaters into a mostly useless giraffe "stole", I can just blame them for not being whatever enough to appreciate me.)

Thrift stores, antique malls and flea markets have become possible treasure troves rather than a wrinkled nosed "quick, get me out of here" place of disdain. I found an Armani skirt in my local thrift store, damn it. I tend to stick to paying ten dollars or less for my crap exciting finds. The piles of bags keep mounting.

In this quest for cheap crap, we have discovered an antique mall that holds a monthly auction. Some of the bids for items there are ridiculous. Of course I want that baggie full of rusty old keys for $2! I can feel myself getting stupid though. With the first round of bids we ever placed, some of mine were simply to be an asshole because I realized a particularly bitchy vendor there buys stuff super cheap on garage sale days or through the auction room, repackages it, and adds a 1000% mark up. Yes, I realize they all do it, but they don't all purchase in the same damn building! Do I really want an orange crate full of matches for $5? Uh, no, but that bitch puts ten in a bag and charges $3 per bag, so, theoretically, it's like buying 2 of her bags, only better, cuz I get more stuff. Yeah, I might have to stay away from the auction room.

Anyway, the auction room there has made me consider other, live auctions. My great aunt and uncle live a few blocks from my parents' house in the one square mile town that was also home to my grandparents and great-grandparents while I was a child (the physical age kind, not the mental kind, thanks). Most of their neighbors have lived there my whole life too. The neighbors (not my aunt and uncle, damn it!) are all getting old, and passing away. One of their closest neighbors, both in proximity and friendliness, passed away last month. She left behind her husband of like 53 years and no one else. I haven't seen him in awhile, so I think he must be in ill health as well. Since there are no relatives to squabble over possessions, the house and its contents will be auctioned this weekend. I know they took pride in their home and their possessions, so I thought theirs might be a good auction to start my foray into live bidding.

I looked up the auction house online and checked out the pictures of items for sale.

I don't want to go anymore.

It honestly appears this woman has kept every piece of her childhood. No, not in general hoarder fashion. Notebooks containing cards are ordered, neat and clean. Toys are still in boxes. Also, 80 years ago, people simply weren't swimming in crap the way we are now. Possessions weren't disposable. They also didn't have kids messing with their shit. I think maybe it's the childless thing that makes me sad, but I'm not sure, it could just be because she was a lifelong fixture, not necessarily a prominent one, but there nonetheless. I do know that looking at her carefully preserved, 80 year old childhood objects about to be sold to the highest bidder makes me very unhappy. What right do I have to gloat over finding a mint condition whatever for $5? It meant more than that to the owner, or it wouldn't still be around. I just feel like a vulture swooping in, and picking over the pieces of a life that will be forgotten in however many years it takes for those who knew her to die. Those family photos are just neat old pictures to anyone else. I don't know what it really is, but I don't like the feeling of profiting from death. Of course, the other old stuff I buy could be selling for the same reason, but I don't know that for sure. I think it's the knowing that messes with me.