Morning

   I think it's unfortunate that I should wake up in a bad mood, ever. I think there should be a reset button and when I wake in the morning, I should at the very least, feel neutral. I  have had a string of days that I have felt extra tired, and have had extra aggravations. Some are my own doing, some are not.  I can't control the spot stealer at the gym, although I can change how I look at it, I suppose. I left my interior light on in my car once again this week, killing the battery. I don't even know how this is possible, as I was not IN the car in the dark and would not need that light on. You would think the car would beep when  I turn off the ignition if a light is on. It beeps incessantly for everything else. The one thing I'd want a beep for, it's not into. I  hate beeping. I had an unpleasant Facebook event a couple of days ago. Last night, determined to cook the dinner I had planned, frantically cooking at 7:30, I dumped half of my peeled, cubed and marinated eggplant into the hot oven, the oven drawer beneath the oven and the floor. I keep having aggravating dreams.
   Sometimes, I wake up in the morning with a feeling of worry. Wondering what will happen today. A general grumpy, cloudy, feeling. And I think, oh man, you are setting yourself up. Do not step a foot out of this bed until you are happy. That doesn't work. Most of the time I have all of 30 seconds to wake up and get out of bed. I must teach my four year old to call for me in a nicer way. His morning, "MAHMMEHHHhhhhhhhhhh......." is so whiny. I have to get quickly out of bed or else I have to hear it repeatedly.
   I am in bed right now. I got to sleep in today. And woke from dreams about my dead mother being alive and not calling me on my birthday. I have a ton of things to do today and feel a bit overwhelmed and worried. I have a sense that my feelings in the morning call the day to me. I am ordering off a menu and I am choosing events that will fit my mood. This makes me more nervous.
   Writing is making me feel better though.
   The more I focus on that spot stealer at the gym, the more she's gonna drive me crazy. I know it. I guess I'll be shopping for a new spot. I love the gym. I love the classes I take and the child care, the hour I get to move my body and feel strong, follow instructions and not worry about anything else. I love the people there. I love that it is only a four minute drive from my house. I love that we can afford the $25 a month membership, worth every penny. I would not give up the gym for anything. I would give up my spot for my happiness though.
   Shitty dreams are just shitty dreams. My dead mother didn't call me in my dream but when she was alive, she never missed my birthday. She made me the same pink lemonade ice cream cake from scratch every year. She was always, always, happy to see me.
   When my car battery died yet again in one week, my husband, yet again, jumped it for me and let it run in the driveway. When I dumped all that eggplant into the oven and stood there staring at it and said, "I don't even know what to do with that!", my husband said, "I got it." And he cleaned it up. When Facebook slapped me in the face, I had friends that said, it's okay, we love you. And my husband offered me a massage. I knew what he really meant though and I said no thank you, I just wanted to go to sleep.
   The point is, my life has got my back. I am loved. The morning after the Facebook debacle, I went into my son's room to get him up and he held my face in his little hands and kissed me all over for my face while I laughed. Life is predominantly good. I am very lucky. I am very blessed. I try very hard to keep it that way. I wish I could wake up happy every day. But I suppose, I am human and human nature says differently. Especially in America. What a strange world we live in. So much abundance, so much worry. So much safety, so much fear. But, I love my little town. The freshly painted red bridge, the chocolate shop. I love my friends here. I love this amazingly warm Fall weather we're having, the trees leaves changing and falling, the light changing. Halloween coming.
    The window curtain at the head of my bed is a vintage cream and blue grey flowery thing. It has a hole in it that I keep thinking I have to mend, and I will. Right now, through that little hole, I can see some leaves blowing in the breeze, in the sun, on a tree in my yard. Just a tiny window into the the day outside. It looks so beautiful. For this moment, I am glad that hole is there. It's like a little floating, shimmering, morning jewel. Good morning.
   I think I can get up now. Did I mention I got to sleep in? Today is going to be okay.

Estate Sale

   There is really nothing else like an estate sale. Have you ever been? It is like a yard sale except it is always indoors. Sometimes it happens when people are moving. But most often it is when someone has died. Someone old. People are hired to run a sale out of the house. Some doors are closed and have signs that say "keep door closed".
   It occurs to me now, it also happens when someone old has had to leave their home. They just had one at my grandpa's house. My grandpa has not died, he has gone to live with my uncle.
   Last week, I went to an estate sale. It was at a house around the corner from me. I had some free time one day and there were signs and I followed them there. It was a small house and in ways it was caught in a time warp as old people's homes often are. I love old people's homes. I love when most everything they own, the have owned for a long time. Old people don't redecorate or renovate, they are comfortable. Things are "outdated" but well cared for.
   I am making great generalizations here, I realize. Let me say, in my experience at estate sales in the Hudson Valley in NY, this seems to be the case. I am sure it varies as all things do.
   At the sale, the books were still on their shelves, there were no personal photographs or items around, but there were clothes still on their hangers in the closets, the kitchen was closed off and the dishes were laid out on a table. I have gone to estate sales where the dishes are still in the cabinets, the sliver ware in the drawers and it is all for sale. It is all for the buying and the looking. It feels strange to delight in such a thing. I wonder if the former owner of these things has died, if they are annoyed with people picking through their things. I guess if I were old and had passed away and there was an estate sale in my house it might bug me. And make me glad, depending on who took what. I also suppose if I were dead, I would not care about such things because everything would finally make sense and none of it would have to do with "things". But our things in this life bring us comfort or anxiety or pleasure. We attach ourselves to things and we "love" them. Or we don't want them anymore but can't seem to let go of them. Things are funny like that. For me anyway.
   There was a room in the house that had a walk in closet. It was full of baskets. Maybe 100 or more baskets. And in the back of the closet there were some boxes that looked like they had not been opened. I opened them and found stationary and old wedding cards and a wedding program from what I assumed was the owners wedding. There was a composition notebook filled with a child's writing, just lists and lists of names. There was a photograph of two women standing inside the house, downstairs, smiling together. One was an older woman and she looked familiar. I decided it was her house, her things and I had probably seen her around town. I put the photograph back where I found it.
   She made hooked rugs. While I was there, the woman running the sale pulled them out and laid them on the floor. There were about 10 or so, maybe a dozen. I picked out four of them. They were $5.00 each. Hand made. Three with flowers and one with an eagle. I also found a pile of white cotton curtains with white pom pom trim. Many windows worth, maybe the whole house, so many of them. $10.00 for all of them. I bought those too. I found a box in another room and opened it. Inside were ladies gloves. Leather and that Isotoner sort of glove, in browns, reds, black and tan. I tried them all on. I bought two pairs, $1.00 each.
   There were other people milling around the whole time I was there. Some old people too and I wondered if they were thinking about their own things and their own estate sales that might happen some day. If they bought anything, maybe those things would end up in their estate sale. Maybe the things I bought there will end up in my estate sale some day too.
   There were christmas decorations, old paper plates, christmas and thanksgiving themed. I thought about the entertaining she had done. And wondered if anyone would take these plates and napkins. I almost did.
   I asked the woman running the sale if the house would be sold. She said she thought the son of the owner was moving in. I wondered what he was like.
   I left with my treasures. It was a Saturday and a sign told me that everything would be half off on Sunday.
   I brought the rugs and curtains and gloves home. I found a spot for each rug. One is under my desk in my studio and keeps my feet warm, one is in the kitchen in front of the kitchen sink and cushions my feet when I stand there and will keep them warm this winter, one I gave to Joseph, the one with the eagle, to put under his desk in his studio to keep his feet warm. The fourth and most beautiful, is white with a colorful bunch of flowers in the center, I put in the living room on the other side of my four year old's train table. When he came home with his father, he walked in the front door, kicked off his sneakers and walked right up to the rug, clasped his hands in front of his chest and said, "Oh Mommy! Thank you for this cozy rug!" He pulled a pillow and a blanket off of the couch and laid down on the rug. I think he has played on it every day since.
   A few months ago, before my uncle arranged the estate sale at my grandfather's house, he let me come to the house while he was there with my aunt, clearing our their childhood things and taking things that were important to them, after he had packed away all the things that were still important to my grandpa. It was very much like an estate sale except it was before all of the personal things had been removed. I found amazing black and white photographs of my grandparents when they were teenagers with their friends, playing baseball, having picnics and on vacation. I found a box of glasses that had been my great grandfather's. A tin full of my mother's dancing shoes from when she was very small. An old Halloween decoration, a paper skeleton shade for a lamp. I took a bunch of old thread bare towels. Pretty old dishes, Christmas cloth napkins. Random things. I also ended up with my great grandfather's desk and my grandfathers scroll saw. I filled my car. Blankets, a pair of overalls, magnets, drinking glasses, a sewing box.

   My grandfather was there but I don't know if he knew exactly what we were doing there and I don't think he was crazy about it all. These were his things and he was not gone. Maybe he thought we were just packing them up for him. I am not sure. I love having my grandparents things. I love the connection these things have to them and to my great grandparents. It is amazing to me that I can put my great grandfather's glasses on my face and look through the same lenses he did. These objects are connected to another time and other people. And these people, unlike the people whose homes I have been in for estate sales, are my people. People who made me, people I love. And I love their old towels. I probably used those towels to dry off at their old house in Valley Stream after swimming in their backyard pool when I was very small. 

   I like to think of the lady who made the hooked rugs being happy that they have found a good home and are so loved. I like to think my great grandfather likes to see his glasses on my face. And that my grandfather is glad I will use his scroll saw. When I look at my grandmother's sewing box, I see my grandmother. Some day, someone may run an estate sale in my home when I am gone and maybe someone will buy my grandmother's sewing box and they will not know it was hers, but maybe it will delight them because it is pretty cool the way it folds up and holds so many spools of thread, sewing needles and pins. And they will know it is old and had a history and maybe they will even use my thread that is in the box, just as I have been using my grandma's. And me and my grandma will smile together and be glad.