Estate sales, yard sales, garage sales and the like, are a special type of torture for me. I have never liked them. Thrift stores. Just the smell of these places cause my stomach to churn. I can’t help to think how much of the junk in these places belonged to someone that is no longer with us. I can’t help it. Maybe it’s my overly active imagination or artist’s brain but when I look at an old suit or shirt I can’t help but picture some old codger slipping away, all that stuff still in their closet. Then a tired and overwhelmed loved one grabbing everything in there and putting it in a trash bag to give away.
We had all this ‘family’ furniture, including a table that had been my Great Great Grandmothers. Every Sunday we would sit around it for a meal and every Sunday my Dad would get a glaze over his eyes and start talking about how many different generations had eaten at that table. All I could do is look at my mashed potatoes and imagine ghosts sitting around me. When we would eat with the old silverware that was my Great Great Grandmother’s I would think of all the ghosts that used that same fork, some of which I saw in toothless, pre-ghost form, and I shudder and think how I’d rather whittle my own out of a tree branch.
I am not an overly spiritual or superstitious person but given the experiences I’ve had, especially this year, I am not going to rule anything out. Perhaps it is because I’m a wasteful American but I tend to prefer ‘new’ items. I do not want the baggage that comes with antiques. Unfortunately, I am married to someone who does not feel this way.
This past weekend my wife wanted to pick up a pair of antique lamps from an estate sale she found online. Being the good Samaritan I am I agreed to join her because you never really know about these places. When we got there it is was apparent to me that whoever lived in the house was not ‘of the living’ anymore. The lamps she liked were nice but when we plugged them in, one didn’t work. The nice fellow that was administering the sale gave them to us for free but then my wife found another set of lamps that she also wanted.
I shook my head because I knew there was no way to prevent these lamps from coming home. They were immediately creepy to me. They look like they came out of some haunted, mid-century, Bavarian hotel. They’re wooden and carved and painted over with little birds and symbols, orange and green. From the base to the top of lampshade I would say they probably stand three and a half feet tall. The lampshade is made out of burlap and looks like it would give you a rash just rubbing up against it. When they are turned there is barely enough dim light to read by. But hey, who am I to say what’s good or not, if I were left to decorate we’d have nothing more than some camping chairs and a television.
All was fine and dandy until we brought these things home and she decided to put one in the bedroom. I tried to fall asleep but all I could think about were the stories this lamp could tell. Had it seen murders? Was it cursed? Was it part of some pagan ritual in the old country? Who’s to say. All I know is that I didn’t sleep last night because every time I opened my eyes, that lamp was staring back at my soul. I surely hope it doesn’t accidentally break...