I’ve got the bug,
And I don’t need another hobby,

And this hobby is now bordering on an obsession,
Because every Thursday I start to check my email even more often than usual.

And as I do, my heart beats a little faster . . .

As I wait for a message from Bryan . . .

About the next round of estate sales in the area.

I’m not talking about junkie yard sales masquerading as estate sales. These are REAL treasure hunts with genuine antiques and other keepsakes from bygone eras.

But despite the thrill of finding the perfect antique copper tea kettle to add to my collection, I become melancholy as I wander through the rooms of a beautiful house and wonder about the people that used to call this place home. I wonder if there are grandchildren and children left behind to mourn their loss. Certainly there is evidence of this, at times, in rooms still made up in ruffles and frills just waiting for a little girl to come and visit . . . or perhaps left like that by a mommy not ready to admit that her little girl has long since moved away. (I think that I will be that kind of mommy). And yet, if there are loved ones left behind, it’s hard for me to understand how they could just let perfect strangers rummage through grandma’s drawers–both kinds, if you know what I mean.

I wonder if anyone noticed the reminder card on the counter and called the dentist to let him know that grandma wouldn’t be at her appointment next week. Should I take the card and call, just in case?

I notice things that my own grandmas had in their homes, and as I miss my grandmas terribly, I remind myself that they are in a better place, free from pain, where they serve as my guardian angels at times.

I reflect on the evidence piled all around reminding me that there is really so very little that you can “take with you,” and I recommit myself to prioritize those things that are eternal.

And I wonder, do any of these other people at the estate sale think about these things, or is it just me? Am I weird?

Don’t answer that!