What We Leave Behind

My son Cole is visiting from New York right now and yesterday we went out to a bunch of yard sales. We hit one, right towards the end of our search, that was a treasure trove of great things, for me. There was a very interesting collection of books on Buddhism, Judaism, fashion, art, creativity, even a piano book of Bach! I got some of each, thinking Who is this person? We are clearly kindred spirits.

I asked the three women standing about, whose sale it was. One of them told me that it was a sort of estate sale for a dear friend of theirs who had died. She was an eclectic and curious reader who had a unique style of dress and a passion for the arts. She carried a New Yorker bag around with her all the time, they said. There was a set of bocce balls, a collection of bags and purses, a huge rack of wild shoes, and loads of jackets and clothes.

I wondered if we would have been friends, this kindred spirit and I.

Would this woman I never met have dressed to the nines for the fancy dress party I used to have each February? I bet so. Would she have loved my fancy hat, the fascinator I bought at the St. Louis Art Fair? Oh yes. I had once and only once been accepted into that prestigious show, and I made boatloads of money there, unlike anything before or ever since. So I splurged. I spent $350 on a handmade hat by J. Ignatius Creegan, of Petersburg VA. I just learned today that he, too, is gone. He died of brain cancer in 2022. Whatever became of the collection of antique wooden hat blocks that he and his partner had acquired? Did his partner carry on without him? I don’t know.

Months ago, I went to the estate sale of my college piano teacher, someone I’d romanticized at the time. He was a briefly important figure in my life—funny, intelligent, sarcastic, a bit flamboyant, a talented pianist and a demanding teacher, both at lessons and in the classroom. I so admired him and I loved having him for lessons. I guess I can say now that I had a schoolgirl crush on him.

I wasn’t aware that he’d died, though it happened in 2023. I was sad to see it. From his obituary I learned that he grew up in a lighthouse cottage on St. Simons Island, Georgia, where his father was the lighthouse keeper. Wow. What must that have been like? I like to think that it was wonderful.

I went to that sale feeling both nostalgic and a bit starstruck. Here was the home he shared with his wife. Here, judging by all of the china and glassware, they had many parties. We were told he’d filled this neighborhood with his beautiful piano playing. His black Steinway grand stood in the living room on a raised platform, all closed up and marked DO NOT TOUCH! Piles of his music, though, could be touched, perused, and purchased. I bought Volumes I and II of the Beethoven Sonatas and a copy of the Chopin Etudes, all well used and carefully taped together after they’d become worn. A Post-It note in one, and handwritten notes sprinkled throughout the music of all. I’m thrilled to have them.

I think about what I will leave behind when I go and can’t help but wonder who will treasure what.

At an estate sale now and again we can see how the people lived, where they have traveled, what sports team or television star they favored, if they loved decorating for holidays, whether or not their grandchildren visited often and thus had a room decorated for them. My kids’ pediatrician, I discovered, had dedicated an entire room to a collection of Hop Along Cassidy memorabilia! What does a box of antique baby clothes tell us about a person, or a collection of spoons, or an eclectic mix of vinyl records?

I suppose that we can only make guesses about people from their estate sales. But once in a while there’s one that sticks with you, that leaves you feeling as if you’ve encountered their ghost, as I did yesterday. Both the real people we did know and the ghosts we didn’t unexpectedly open up worlds in our imaginations. At least, they do in mine. I will ponder the unknown kindred spirit, the hatmaker, and my old piano teacher for at least a few days before the next romantic notion strikes.

In the meantime, tell me about your journeys of the imagination. I’d love to hear.

“Everything you can imagine is real.” - Pablo Picasso

Make me sweet again, fragrant and fresh and wild, thankful for any small event. - Rumi

All you have shall some day be given: therefore give now. - Kahil Gibran

Check out my Ampersand Cards website for greeting cards with my original writing and art, plus small paintings and collages.

If someone shared this letter with you, click the button below to subscribe for free! You’ll find all my poems here. Finally, if you’d like to check out my 365 Day Index Card art practice, click here.

Thanks for listening,

Kay

P.S. MerryThoughts is the name of my first book, out of print at the moment. The word is a British one, referring both to a wishbone and to the ritual of breaking the wishbone with the intention of either having a wish granted or being the one who marries first, thus the “merry thoughts.”