I was at my sink washing my hands and noticed the bread baskets hanging there. They have been with me from house to house for as long as I can remember, so long that I never see them anymore. The thought crossed my mind of a day soon after I am in the dirt, and some yard sale stranger shrugging at the almost-free price of my old baskets. How many warm hands of friends have held those baskets at my table over the years? No one would ever know but me.
I used to pick antiques for dealers. A dirty business of waking at 3 AM to get in line for estate sales, hoping to swipe heirlooms from the grieving. Good antiques and jewels will outlast us all. You can’t really “own” beautiful things, only caretake them until you are gone. There is little sentiment in that fact unless these kinds of things are passed down for generations.
What is odd and out of place are the small things that out last us. Trash bags full of papers that seemed important the day before, photos of relatives no one cares about, letters someone saved for a lifetime. I have shuffled along with silent strangers past rows of unwanted, out of style, old lady’s shoes with the toes curled. In a sad house one dawn morning, a lady smirked and whispered, “Uhg, no telling where those old shoes have been.”
Exactly.
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