We stopped at the estate sale on a whim. A friend and I had just spent the afternoon on a rainy hike. The dog was sacked out in the back seat. A hot bath and nap waited at home, but a sign to the estate sale beckoned from the main road. “Do you want to stop in? It should only take a minute,” I said, fibbing just a little.
My friend was a good sport and pulled over in front of the modest house. Since it was late on Sunday, pickings were slim. The remaining furniture and lamps showed a grandmotherly house that had its last major redecorating in the early 1960s. A card table held a dented cocktail shaker and some gold-rimmed highball glasses. A box of greeting cards, used, sat on a coffee table. Some were written in blue fountain pen that had started to fade to brown. Two partially-full boxes of spiral incense from Japan kept recipe booklets company on an end table. Hanging on a bedroom door was a full Shriner’s outfit, from booties to cap…
