Do You Really Need That Rocky Mountain Goat Head?

Last night my daughter and I attended our first auction in Portland. We arrived early so we could peruse the items up for bid. There were two cars, including a pea green Jaguar parked on the curb outside, furs, jewelry, lots of furniture, several mounted hunting trophies, art glass, paintings, and more.

The hottest items of the night were Japanese Samauri swords and knives and Native American art. Oriental carpets were also poplular. Most of the itmes in the auction were the property of a wealthy Portland couple and I was more fascinated with the story the collection told than by the items themselves. What can one assume about people who own five writing desks, Steuben glass and Tiffany Lamps as well as original watercolors and several fur coats?

They were obviously wealthy and had good taste and they must have owned a large home with a double garage. It made me wonder how I would feel if all of those beautiful things belonged to my grandparents. Bits and pieces collected over the years parted out and sent home with stranges.

I was there to look for a couple of tables for my bookstore and I know there were antiques dealers and collectors there who were after a little art glass or an unusual lamp table. But why would anyone want an old bear head or a muscrat wall hanging or the most ornate guilded fruit bowl I've ever beheld?

The most enthusiastic bidder of the evening paid four hundred dollars for a Rocky Mountain Goat Head. Are goats predicted to become the next decorating rage? Will we all need one for the foyer?

Acutally I don't have a foyer. Everyone comes into my house through the garage and I have no collectables other than books. In spite of the fact that we all have too much stuff, and maybe some of us have too much money to throw away, I really enjoyed myself last night. Watching people bid on itmes I would hide in the attic made me realize how much I appreciate eccentricity, though I don't practice it much.

I came home with a wonderful oak library table. It was the only item I wanted in the entire collection and I paid too much for it. It's lovley and sturdy and perfect for my store. It makes me happy just to look at it standing in my garage.

I only hope the goat head lady is as happy with her purchase.

Mea Maxima Culpa

If you're the mom of grown up kids you know how awkward forging the adult to adult relationship can be. I've had to learn that no matter how much experience I've had. no matter how I want to cling, no matter how much money I loan, er give them, I can no longer control my kids. For a long time when they were young, control felt like love and concern. But maybe I'm just twisted. No matter.

I asserted a bit of control a couple of weeks ago with my oldest daughter and now I must apologize. It was a silly thing to do and she didn't object but she must have wondered if I still have all my marbles. Her car was in the body shop getting beautiful after living in the city for a while so I let her drive my Audi for a couple of weeks. That may not sound like a very big deal, but I love my car. Her name is Pearl and we've been together for seven happy years. She has a few scratches and one badly repaired dent but I love her in the way one loves a great old pair of leather loafers that cost way too much.

My daughter has a dependency problem. She must have music at all times. Her musical taste varies and her knowledge of local bands and artists is extensive. I like some of her music and some of it makes my hair hurt.

The truth is, I really didn't want to loan out my car, but my girl was starting a new job and I couldn't see her driving to work in our old 89' Chevy pickup that only starts half the time. So to keep a little control over my darling Pearl I informed my daughter that I dind't want her to mix up the cds in the changer in my car. I wanted the car returned to me with Roxy Music in the number two position and my soundtrack from Garden State in number five. She was a very good girl and used her ipod instead of my cd changer the entire two weeks she drove Pearl.

It was only after daughter number two told me how funny the joke was, the one about me insisting that the cds be in the right order, that I realized how silly the request was. The truth is that I only listen to two of the six cds in the changer. I was just hanging on to a scrap of control. Over Pearl. Over my daughter. Over anything in my life.

I'm sorry. It was silly. I'm so proud of you. I'm letting go. Gradually.

There's Still Life in the Old Man

My husband is a few (ahem) years older than I. Anything over ten years older qaulifies for the ahem. He's a vibrrant, funny fellow who never rests when there is teasing to be done. He knows current events, is a professional man who owns his own business and he reads at least three books a week. He has only one serious flaw. He's losing his hearing.

At times his hearing loss makes him seem a little obtuse. I watch in fear because my hearing aint' what is used to be either. Without any discussion we' ve worked out a few hand signals that come in handy in the car where the noise makes it impossible for him to hear my whimpy voice. I have to admit that it is more than exasperating to try to be understood, especially when a timely lane change on the freeway is involved.

I accompanied hubby to a well known cataract-laser surgery center today. He was having surgery to correct his near sightedness and astigmitism. We arrived at the center thirty minutes early as we were advised. This took some doing since we live three hours away. They took us from room to room doing measurments, asking questions, giving information about the surgery. All very pleasant, very professional. One of the assistants had a very soft voice and Hubby had a difficult time understanding her at first. When she left the room I made a comment about his hearing. She must have heard me.

The next person who came in the room was a doctor whose role in the process wasn't explained. She introduced herself and I couldn't believe what came next. She got right in hubby's face and started talking really loud. That was okay but she talked to him like she didn't expect him to understand. Like you'd talk to a four year old who was about to go outside to play. "Do you understand why you must wear a jacket, Little Johnny?" He glared at her, not because he couldn't understand. He was readying to tell her to shove her condesention up her little butt. She was the one who didn't get it.

I was burning but I didn't say anything. I wondered if she treated everyone that way. Hubby was clearly miffed and embarassed.

I have a solution. Maybe on one of the ten forms the patients fill out for eye surgery they could ask if the patient has problems with hearing.

Seems simple. Unlike my hubby.