She Hearts Me. She really, really hearts me.

My sweet friend Julie has this series called Joy’s Hope Hearts.

A bunch of bloggers that she…well…hearts.

You know, likes.

Today, I’m the lucky feature.

And I wrote a little about Estate Sales.

You should check it out here.

* * * *

I have this total love/hate relationship with Estate Sales.

Ever been to one?

This isn’t a garage sale where people lay out their unwanted wares on old sheets on their front lawn.

An Estate Sale is (typically) everything that is left over after you’ve died.

All the stuff that family didn’t want to take.

All the extras.

And let me tell you: there are some treasures to be found!

I have scored some MAJOR deals.  Super cool stuff…sometimes with tags still on it.  For pennies.

And if you know me, you know I love me some bargains.

But there’s the weirdness of Estate Sales…because it’s not a bunch of stuff on folding tables in the driveway…

you actually go *into* the house…open up kitchen cupboards…rifle through closets…pull open drawers…look under sink cabinets…swing wide medicine cabinets.

And that…is kinda creepy.

Like, you’re really rummaging.

I feel like a vulture.

Picking over the remnants of death.

Look, I’m practical.

But there’s just something inherently wrong when I can buy the last half of a shampoo bottle for 25 cents.

As in, that’s the last of the shampoo before the dude died.

I don’t believe the shampoo is haunted.

I don’t think it’s tainted.

It’s perfectly fine, usable shampoo.

It’s SHAMPOO.

And it’s no longer needed by the original owner.

And 25 cents for half a bottle of Pantene is a fab deal no matter WHO you are.

But still.

There’s an imaginary line of appropriateness.

Like, really…it’s a dead guy’s shampoo.

Is nothing sacred?!

You can also score the remaining Soft Scrub, Snail Bait, 409, Miracle Gro, and bleach bottles.

I don’t know why I think it’s okay to buy cookie sheets, drills, and pyrex dishes…and it’s somehow creeptastic to pick up some dirt cheap pharmaceuticals.

It just is.

But either way, Estate Sales make me feel a little yucky inside.

Maybe because I know that someday this will be MY house.

And MY stuff.

Going home in some random person’s car.

Some crazy old lady turning my drawers upside down…assessing my sheets and if she wants them.

For like, a buck.

My 400 thread count egyptian cotton sheets.

Luckily, I kinda don’t care.

It’s just STUFF.  Stuff I can’t take with me.  Stuff that doesn’t matter…AT ALL.

But I will warn my children now: I don’t care if I’m dead, you WILL NOT HAWK MY LE CREUSET.  Put it in an attic, use it as garden art, give it to your kids in their play kitchen, but DON’T YOU DARE LET SOME RANDOM LADY BUY IT FOR PENNIES!!!  Because I promise this: Listen now, and listen good…I will figure out a way to come back and haunt you.  For reals.

I think I made my point, don’t you?  :)

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jeannett

I'm a mom to four. A wife to one. I believe in story. I love telling you about mine and would love to hear yours. There's really no sense in wasting our suffering and not sharing in each other's joy. We're all in this together...even if it doesn't always feel like it.

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