Wednesday, March 15, 2006

March 10, 2006

N. Decatur Rd. – Druid Hills “Estate Sale”

The ad for this sale made reference to a nonagenarian who never threw anything away. While this peaked my attention and caused me to head directly to this address as soon as I left work on Friday, the clutter laden home was filled but the owner had thrown some things away. True trash houses where nothing is thrown out are far worse then what was here. True trash residences are far too unsanitary and dangerous to hold any sort of sale in. Most of the time they are cordoned off with police tape while the authorities remove animal carcasses, disassembled automobiles, empty cat food cans and things best left alone.
When I arrived at this brick Tudor home, it was evident that earlier buyers had already removed so much clutter that there were only a few reminders of the never throwing anything away claim. Overall I would say I’ve lived in worst places. A few touches of eccentricity such as one bathtub filled with women’s shoes and another tub packed with ballroom dancing trophies did speak of an over accumulated life but most of all the home just bore evidence of a woman in her 90’s who just wasn’t taking care of the place and liked to keep things.

Upon entering the living room I found the estate sellers set up near tables covered with all manner of animal figurines. On the floor was a magnum bottle of champagne wearing a hand knitted cover. More ceramic animals were also found in the dinning room. On the table was as a vintage devil costume with a hand made miniature pitchfork hewn from small tree limbs. A box containing biblical paper dolls spilled out onto the same table. Art found in the same room included a montage made from a wire basket with dried flowers and shells and a print of a tiger. Some lps and 45s were stacked on the floor and the table. The singles included original works by Chuck Berry and Dion as well as Eps of covers of hits from the 1950s. The lp collection was more eclectic with albums by artist ranging from Yes to Boots Randolph.
As I made my way to the rear of the home I peeked into the bathroom with the tub filled with women’s shoes. The room was in much disordered as a pile of linens and cloth items of unknown origin were piled up around the toilet. A door torn from its hinges leaned against the wall.
The kitchen was filled with the usual old cooking fodder. Piles of cookbooks were stacked on shelves. Loose recipes were scatted about the cabinets. I found one vintage recipe for salmon roll.

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