by Miriam E. Waters
I stopped at what was advertised as a "garage sale" on a roadside sign. When I arrived at the address it was a "garage sale" slash "estate sale." I looked through the detritus of an old woman's life. I went into the house at the urging of an old man wearing a straw hat who was running the sale. It was so damn depressing.
I stopped at what was advertised as a "garage sale" on a roadside sign. When I arrived at the address it was a "garage sale" slash "estate sale." I looked through the detritus of an old woman's life. I went into the house at the urging of an old man wearing a straw hat who was running the sale. It was so damn depressing.
There wasn't much left by 3:00 PM. Her treasured wedding picture was still hanging on her bedroom wall in a very ornate silver frame. How sad that no one apparently wanted it, not even the scavengers.
I could imagine her in the house a month ago, never dreaming that strangers would be coming soon to paw through her belongings.
I made a small purchase for no reason other than I felt like I needed to acknowledge that the woman's life was important. I purchased a vintage Pyrex glass ring mold.
I wondered what colorful and toothsome treats were made by this faceless woman using the mold to bring joy to her holiday guests. A vintage cookbook contains the perfect dish for introducing this mold into my holiday feasts ,,, "Cranberry Cream Molded Salad.." Pass the cranberries, please.
I wondered what colorful and toothsome treats were made by this faceless woman using the mold to bring joy to her holiday guests. A vintage cookbook contains the perfect dish for introducing this mold into my holiday feasts ,,, "Cranberry Cream Molded Salad.." Pass the cranberries, please.
I like this story. I don't want to ask if it is true, I only want to think of the feelings of what it was like in the home for the years the couple lived there and the holidays they cherished with each other and not least, there cranberry cream molded salad.
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