Foremost on my Mind: The Highest Bid?

 

There are auctions and then there are auctions. I went to the latter the other day, and it was a refreshing eye-opener—as well as a wallet-emptier. I had a real bounce in my step as I left hours later. No wonder: I wasn't weighed down with all the cash I came with.

I'm used to going to auctions where 95% of the gawkers are male, where there's more gabbing and gossiping than a discount Tuesday at IGA, and if I got a loonie for everytime I saw someone spit, I'd be wealthy.

The first type of auction is called a farm disposal sale, or some other fancy-pancy term. But the one I went to was an estate sale. There were probably 80% women present, with just as much gabbing and gossiping (notice I didn't say 'more'), and most certainly no spitting.

The fact that it was inside a former hardware store south of Lethbridge probably had a lot to do with the spit-free environment. The presence of women, however, probably had far more to do with it. You might say that we (males) were all scared spitless...

Estate sales are generally a bittersweet time for buyers, sellers, and family. It's akin to the last chapter of someone's life being written, with the book is being put away in a locked box in the attic.

Be it a farm sale or estate sale, the sentiment is similar. The former comes about often because the family involved is no longer able or willing to farm, or the principals have passed away. Or, perhaps they're simply smart enough to get out of farming while they still have their shirt on.

On the one hand, the key limitation with farm disposal sales is that they generally sell farm-related stuff. Yes, there will be a small trailer of household goods in a corner—maybe even the house itself—but one has to be loosely connected to farming or ranching to take full advantage of what's on the block.

On the other hand, an estate sale runs the gamut of goods, ranging from mugs to pots to towels to dolls to desks to...well, you get the picture—and even pictures get auctioned off. I actually saw some eight-track cassettes the other day. I wanted to burst out with, "I've Got You, Babe," but I didn't know Sonny's first line. And I didn't have the right bell-bottoms on.

Halfway through the proceedings I had a pile of things I had purchased, but not one was what I came for. I never did the get the office chair or pickup truck. But at least now I have lots of very nice brooms, three coffee pots, and partridge with the pear tree.

Another significant factor with this particular auction was that I felt I got to know the deceased a little. There was an appropriate moment of silence, in memory of this particular woman, followed by three hours of absolutely no silence whatsoever. By the time I left, somewhere between the mirrors and the lawnmowers, I had everything but the kitchen sink. And that was only because I got out-bid for it.

Waxing a little philosophical now, I am wondering how much any particular auction is a reflection of the "auctionee" (Maurice, I'm not sure if that is even a word). In other words, was this person (Lil was her name, I believe) expressed by the sum of these parts—these 'parts' being her contents in that rented storefront that day? I certainly hope not.

The Good Book speaks of life being measured not in the things that we possess. Our life goes well beyond the tools, toys, and treasures in our houses, the assets, bonds, and cash (the ABC's, if you will) in our banks. It is the relationships, the influences, and the virtues that have real value. The rest of the things are, well, just things.

I like to think that on the day my earthy goods are auctioned off to the loudest and most persistent bidder, such will not be the case. I trust I will have left a lasting legacy in the things that really matter. The relationships, influences, and virtues, you see, have no monetary value. They are things that cannot be bought, sold, or traded.

In other words, it's not that they're costless; it's that they're priceless.

Foremost on my Mind: Protest of the Protest

 

I have never heard of so many people with so much time, creating so much chaos, as I have in these past few weeks. And if I go back a year or two, the list gets frighteningly longer. These "democratic" people have found a niche in protesting all over the world, regardless of the issue. Some, to be sure (hello, "Wall Street Occupiers") may be possibly legitimate, while others are seriously suspect.

Let's see: In Iceland, they're banging pots, setting off fireworks, and dumping their veggies on the streets, trying the get the politicians' attention. Likewise, in the respective capitals of both Canada and the USA, hundreds (including many unemployed actors and actresses who need the free publicity) have done their civil duty in a most uncivil way.

And let's not forget about Greece, Italy, and England.

Speaking of England, just a few months ago, for example, the south of England was ablaze (literally) with nightly protests, stealing, and violence, mostly young people getting back at those who actually get up and go to work everyday—or at those who handed them their unemployment cheques. They said they were making a statement, but methinks they must have been speaking with a different accent.

If they had any moral fiber or a pinch of wisdom, they might want to check with some of their fellow-humans in Syria that question. Mind you, they might be limited as to whom they ask: You see, in Syria, Libya, Yemen, Egypt, and other Muslim countries, the government simply shoots protesters, with the sole intention of killing them. (Obviously, I am not advocating this; I'm simply pointing out a serious irony here.)

I have some questions for my fellow-humans who feel it is their God-given right to desecrate, destroy, and defy. I would ask, for starters, whether anarchy is the best way to get the government's attention? It got mine, of course, and has turned me off big time to their alleged plight.

I would also ask if they had all the facts in hand before they take to the streets. As an example, did everyone in the these various protests really believe in the moral element of what they were doing—or did they simply want to vent their anger? Are they really concerned about the economic and environmental issues—or do they simply have the urge to twist and shout?

I also have some specific questions for two of the groups in particular.

Back to those in Iceland: If times are really tough, why are you wasting money on firecrackers? Why not spend it on, say, vegetables? And speaking of veggies, perhaps you could have eaten the ones you threw around. And you don't need the government to help you with that. All you need is a little common sense and a lot of self-control.

And to those in Washington: As much as you protest the Keystone Pipeline and all the alleged evils of "dirty oil," did you arrive in anything that day that may have used oil or gas? I hope you walked or took a bike to your group hissy fit. If not, shame on you, you hypocrite.

To be sure, we are in very serious economic times, the root for some of these protests. And there is a bona fide way to express bona fide outrage, to be sure. Again, perhaps the "Wall Street Occupiers" are on to something; the jury is still out on that one. But those anarchists of Great Britain really galled me with their wanton destruction: Unemployed, angry, and lawless, they took to the streets to show the "rich people a thing or two." Great, that's going to win the day.

Dialoging, voting, writing letters to the editor, and other creative means (and that includes peaceful rallies) will win the day—not frenzied, senseless anarchy. If people want to make such a statement, they should start by smashing their own windows on their own property on their own time.

I may be just as unhappy with the government in Edmonton and Ottawa as many of the anarchists are. However, I protest with my right to vote, with meetings with my respective representatives, with my choice of how I raise my family (as positive agents of change), with peaceful lobbying, and a host of other means.

One novel means of protest, by the way, could include writing a column like this. (Columnist's note: no windows were smashed, no one's property was damaged in the production of this article.)