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.