Thursday, March 29, 2007

Reflections after an Estate Sale. Volume I

When I close my eyes, I can still see the faded eight by ten photograph:

The photo was yellowed and faint, almost ghostly like a kind apparition. A simple photo, an enlargement of a place somewhere in time: a little grove of shady trees. Pecan? Peach? A sweet grassy “picnic-y” spot. You could almost smell the pure air, sweetened by an infusion of green life warming in the sun. You could faintly hear the little delicate leaves of this peaceful grove fluttering in the air. No one stood in the photo with a half wincing grin from the sun overhead. It was simply just a photo of a special nostalgic PLACE.

Was this place a view from the front porch of a childhood home? Was it a view from a relative’s back veranda, or was it only a haphazard snapshot of a beautiful scene that the viewer just had to preserve by taking a picture? This photo, permanently screwed into the corner cupboard of the breakfast nook, told so much about the owner of this little 40’s waterfront house. When I walk through an estate sale, some houses, of some folks, feel as though you are walking through the owner’s soul. This old tattered photo WAS the owner’s soul.

What a perfect spot to permanently hang the five and dime store framed photo. When he, I’m pretty sure it was a he, (would a woman screw a framed-photo into the side of her juice-glass cupboard?), sat perched upon his regal red vinyl and chrome bar stool throne, to the left of his photo icon, he could see everything in his world:

Across the yellow breakfast bar his Florida wife in her cherry-printed cotton day dress poured another glass of fresh squeezed orange juice. Beyond the lively kitchen he could see through the turquoise washroom and out the dust-caked window into the shell-paved driveway. Just to the left of that he could see down the rogue’s gallery hallway, and over the Spanish Gothic dining room and across the blue chintz davenport and out the wrought iron framed front picture window. Through this window he could watch the golden palms sway and the hot and tired salesmen come-a-calling.

To his immediate left, he could gaze across the cluttered entertainment room, over the dusty piano and tattered record collection, and peer into his hibiscus bark-cloth draped bedroom. Directly behind him, the morning sun melted through the huge crank windows of his simple, yet elegant bay front vista. With just a tilt of his head he could absorb the beauty of the panoramic green lawn graced with blue heron and sprinkled with wild dandelions and sea-salted dew.

In the middle of all his glory, in the catbird seat of his life, at his right, at perfect eye level, his little sturdy icon of some far away grove captured his eyes, his gaze, his thoughts and dreams every day, every morning, while he sipped his fresh squeezed juice and sifted through the morning news.

Do I have an icon of a visual memory in my home that holds so much power? That captures my gaze everyday? Or maybe, do I have a little memory tucked away in the folds of my brain that compares to the faded photo of this shady grove?

I close my eyes, attempting to recall a place like this, a place that has so much power for me. But really, I travel somewhere deeper. In my life, I see, experience and create memories either alone, or with my family, that hold the power of that photograph. I think wouldn’t it be great, or is it some kind of guru power or spiritual grace that allows one to live nostalgia now. Is it possible to never have a past filled with memories of shady groves, but to exist only now in that peaceful shady grove. How can I every day, how can I wear the feeling and transcend that photograph.

Writing this, in a way, is a bit of a tribute to a man who had a beautiful memory, and he was lucky enough to capture a photo of it, of this shady, peaceful and lovely sun-lit grove, and he was also able to enjoy this memory every day. Maybe, once, maybe twice, maybe more, this photo helped remind the owner that this special place of peace and serenity, existed not only in his past, but still was present now, here in his beautiful world, all around him.

When I drove away from this man’s house, his entire life exposed to the world in a riotous estate sale of pilferers and plunderers, I am left with such a melancholy longing to know more about the little photo and the creative and passionate owner. I drive past the realty signs and wonder about who will posses this seventy-year-old home and how it will feel to the new owners when they have to remove the little shady grove icon from the cupboard. Will they see or feel what I saw? Will the faded photo hold as much power for them as it did me? I wonder.



Post a Comment

<< Home

Tuesday, March 13, 2007

Nouveau Tees, now on Myspace

After sleeping for 3 days to recover from creating my NouveauTees myspace Page, :)
Just posting here on my Urban Huntress to let my friends know that "It is Finished."

Wow, thanks to for some great tips and pointers on coding. Here is my Myspace link for Nouveau Tees:

You can swing on over to The Absinthe Room's page on myspace at:


Post a Comment

<< Home