Sold to the Highest Bidder

I grew up in the country and auctions were not only a way to liquidate, but a good auction also was a social event. Locals gathered from near and far to participate in the selling of their neighbor's goods. Sort of like a garage sale on speed. 

Things came and went as quickly as it took to raise a hand. The instant gratification was the impetus behind the decision to hold an auction to liquidate most of our belongings as we navigate an out of state relocation. Alas, in this time of COVID-19 precautions, our auctioneer assured us that an online auction would still accomplish the goal. 

Skeptical, but committed, we signed on to use a virtual auction to liquidate. We were not necessarily comforted when the first few days netted little interest, despite our auctioneer's assurances that most of the bidding comes at the end. 

Selling your personal belongings is a strange beast. We place an inordinate value on those things, yet not enough value to keep them. In other words, we don't want them, but are seemingly astounded when nobody else does either. 

I was married in 1990. The first thing we did on our wedding registry was include fancy things like porcelain and crystal-- because if we didn't get it for a gift, we may never have it. (I appreciate a generation that is much more practical-- if we never have it? We didn't need it, right?)

However, we proceeded to fill and furnish entire rooms dedicated to this stuff known as fine dinnerware -- buying tables, chairs, and cabinets to store and occasionally use those valued belongings. Then one year the top shelf on our cabinet collapsed, breaking most of our porcelain and crystal, but still leaving us with a room of appropriate use storage and furniture. A cabinet for our fine dishes, sans the fine dishes. 

We moved, and found ourselves with another room dedicated to the same pursuit of dinnerware. We owned the furniture, but not the accoutrements that went along with the furniture. Alas, without the appropriate numbers of porcelain and crystal, we wound up renting the necessary place settings and still gathered around, sharing meals and never noticing the plates. 

Today, we sold our cabinet and I repeatedly bemoaned the fact that it sold for pennies on the dollar. Yet in that moment, I realized, the reason I was selling it was that I no longer had anything to display in it, that I borrowed things for that once a year event I needed them. How could I possibly presume that others had the need we had over 30 years ago? Times change. 

However,  I observed the online auction closing and friends were messaging me. I am going to share a few messages, with context to lead up to my point. 

One friend is a local business person that I bought a wall clock from in the past. She would have no way of knowing (until now) that when I bought the clock, it was because we couldn't afford to fix one that was a family heirloom. My plan was to hang a clock in that space until we could fix the other one. But shortly after buying her clock, we saw that my beloved aunt had the SAME EXACT CLOCK on her wall. It felt like we needed to keep that clock. And now that same friend has a handful of things that we once owned. I look forward to hearing the accompanying stories. 

Another friend is a bit further away, but we have bonded over the years through shared life experiences and similar politics. We originally met online and felt an instant kindredship. Life made it difficult to be in the same space at the same time (or perhaps the universe really needed to prepare?). We met once in the most unexpected way possible, and were so thrilled to meet that folks still mention it. 

That same friend had the winning bid on two of the things we're selling and is traveling to pick them up. I believe (she can confirm yay or nay) that the pick up is as much about our friendship perhaps more so, than it is about the "stuff". 

What I've learned in my 50+ years is that stuff is just that. It is stuff. It is the memories, not the ability to touch it, that matters. I'm saying goodbye to several dear possessions, fully realizing that there just is no place to put them in our next abode. 

I'm saying goodbye to my daughter's armoire/chifforobe. I bought it for her as a toddler for her "big girl" room. It was part of a strategic purchase of a guest bed and her trundle bed from the same furniture line. We are keeping the beds, but there isn't a ceiling in the next house tall enough. I feel like I am breaking up a family. 

I am saying goodbye to a beautiful, albeit uncomfortable, chair. It is an antique, probably once was altar furniture as the original set had another chair and a settee. I used to curl up there as a child and read, and felt very fancy. It sold to the highest bidder. 

We watched over 200 groupings of our items sell. As always, with an auction, it's shocking what people want, and what they have no interest in. We sold our lawn and garden equipment for an amount we expected. Some of the furniture was a dud. I caution anyone against buying fine furniture in a trendy color. Mauve leather recliner couches will not EVER make a comeback, despite what my 1990s sensibilities said. Also, just say no to golden oak. 

In the end, it's all just stuff. I am delighted that I can follow the stories of some of it. My one friend bought the luggage that was a traditional high school graduation gift from my grandparents. A full set of burgundy, hard sided American Tourister luggage. It has taken me around the globe, filled with hopes and dreams. My family jokingly referred to my big suitcase as "Big Red" but Big Red and I had many adventures. We explored life and now I find it apropos that I pass that torch to a friend whose own daughter graduated from high school today. 

That luggage doesn't come with baggage, it comes with stories. It comes with the hopes of a life well-lived and the people it touches. 

Because without the human touch? Stuff is just that. I am okay with passing it along and I hope that the next people who touch it find something worth holding onto.