My parents lived in the same brutalist-Art Nouveau home for fifty-one years. (They never could agree on an aesthetic.) During that time, they accumulated the contents of a much larger house and crammed them into their much smaller one. They are gone now, following a pickleball accident that I am not legally permitted to discuss, except to note that one first responder described the scene as “wild.” The estate sale lasted three days. The following items did not move, so I am listing them here, on Facebook Marketplace.
An invitation to my father’s bris, 1942
Engraved. Reads, in a formal, serif font: “You are cordially invited.” Also: “No admission without card.” My father is gone and I cannot ask him why his parents were worried about party-crashers. This question will haunt me. Price: $15, firm.
A box of toffees commemorating the marriage of Prince Charles and Lady Diana Spencer
Purchased in a passing fit of royal enthusiasm before my parents pledged allegiance to the Basque-separatist cause. Most of the toffees remain in their original wrappers. Price: $8.
A mango-strawberry vape
Approximately forty per cent remaining. My mother was eighty when she took up vaping, a detail that my siblings and I learned only while preparing for the estate sale. The brand is called Cloud Nine. Price: $2.
A Weber grill assembly manual
For a model discontinued in 1987. Annotated by my father. The marginalia is extensive and occasionally personal. On page 4, next to a diagram of the grease trap, he has written: “This is where it all goes wrong.” Price: $0.50.
A ceramic rooster
Of unclear provenance and considerable size. My mother called it Apollinaire. She could not, when asked, recall where Apollinaire had come from, or why she had named it Apollinaire. She did, however, dust Apollinaire weekly for the better part of three decades. A home must be found. Price: on second thought, I’m keeping Apollinaire.
A set of “Learn Portuguese in 30 Days” cassettes
Still sealed in the original cellophane. My parents never went to Portugal. They discussed going to Portugal extensively, over many years, in a way that seemed to serve some function other than actually going to Portugal. Price: $5.
A sealed envelope
Labelled “GOOD BUTTONS.” Price: $1.
Seventeen years’ worth of National Geographics
Stacked by my father in order of “least to most erotic.” Price: $400.
A single ski boot
Left, size 10. My parents hung on to it in the hope that its mate would materialize. They didn’t ski. Price: $15.
A sympathy card, unsent
Addressed to a “Meredith” we cannot identify, containing a handwritten message that reads: “We are thinking of you during this impossible time. The casserole freezes well.” Price: free, if you are Meredith.
A sealed envelope
Labelled “BAD BUTTONS.” Price: $12.
One genuine Hummel figurine
And eleven X-rated figurines that my mother was “fairly confident” were also Hummels. Price: $1,500.
A Tupperware container
Holding exactly fourteen batteries, all very dead, but somehow also very warm. Price: free.
A hospital bill
From my birth, with my mother’s handwriting on the back demanding a discount because she “did all the work.” Price: $1.
A coupon for fifty cents off Metamucil
Expired June, 2019. I include it here not because I expect it to sell but because it was tucked inside my parents’ copy of “The Joy of Cooking,” which was shelved in the kitchen, alphabetically, next to their annotated copy of “The Joy of Sex,” on page 27 of which, in my father’s writing, appears: “This is where it all goes wrong.” Price: free. ♦
