[lit-ideas] Re: Lessons from Estate Sale-ing

  • From: David Ritchie <ritchierd@xxxxxxxxxxxxx>
  • To: lit-ideas@xxxxxxxxxxxxx
  • Date: Sat, 5 Dec 2009 15:20:33 -0800


The sad thing about an estate sale, which is what they call round here the sale of effects from within an abode that goes with either the death of their owner or his or her passing into a home, the sad thing about such a sale is that sometimes you encounter a presence among the effects, characteristics derived or put together from the sum of all buying decisions, which make you think, "I would have liked to meet this person." And now it's too late. At such a sale this week I bought a vacuum cleaner, a reserve or benchwarmer for the Royal, the Harley Davidson of vacuum cleaners, one of which we already own. We have the 7.5 amp; this is a ten amp "commercial version." Well worth twenty bucks to me. I didn't, however, buy the full dress clan MacDonald kilt and charlie outfit which was for sale for very cheap, on account of the fact that I already own such an outfit in my size and clan coloring, but that together with the manual of military surgery and the cigarette box from the Queen's coronation, and the Wedgewood Christmas plates, and the Royal Daulton Beatrix Potter stuff, brought on regret that the owner and I never met.

The good thing about an estate sale, or one among the good things that are possible from this redistribution of paraphenalia, is that you can be introduced to terra incognita. I bought volume one of Russell, "Tribes and Castes of the Central Provinces of India," I know not why, opened it at home and discovered, "Homer's phrase 'winged words' perhaps recalls the period when the words were considered as physical entities which actually travelled through the air from the speaker to the hearer and were called winged because they went so fast. A Korku clan has the name *lobo* which means a piece of cloth. But the word *lobo* also signifies 'to leak.' If a person says a sentence containing the word *lobo* in either signification before a member of the clan while he is eating, he will throw away the food before him as it were contaminated and prepare a meal afresh. Here it is clear that the Korku pays no regard to the sense but solely to the word or sound.'" To the modern eye, this reads like Anthropology of 1916, when the paragraph was written, but to my ear it is also resonant of Monty Python's "mattress" sketch, in which there are dire consequences if the word "mattress" is uttered in the hearing of one of the salesmen in the bed department of a store. What's the point of reporting all this? Something about the suitability of gifts perhaps? That we are pleased by that which we are most ready to receive?

An easier point to digest is simply this: I found a new author, Bruce Marshall. A Scot who was wounded in the First World War, he converted to Catholicism, and then went to work in Paris as a chartered accountant. The rest you can read on Wikipedia. So far I'm only a few pages into, "The World, the Flesh and Father Smith," but I've been introduced to a man on a bicycle who is undergoing an inner struggle in the cold and the wet of Scotland, one that is in addition to his worldly struggle, namely, is it actually or currently, under the circumstances, completely worthwhile to pray to the Blessed Virgin to intercede for the Conversion of Scotland? I think this is a very funny image-- Graham Greene with wit added. And then there's the same man thinking about why purgatory is necessary, "There was purgatory, wherein the weak and the worldly were made clean, because even the the best of men couldn't hope to go clod- hopping straight into God's presence after spending a lifetime talking about umbrellas and colds in the head." The damned, the saved, and those whose conversation falls so far below the level of interest required by an omnipotent divinity that additional salon- style seasoning may be required.

Carry on,

David Ritchie,
Portland, Oregon
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