Scarlet Stone

I am experiencing some insomnia here in the wee hours of Tuesday morning. My column isn’t ready yet for Wednesday’s edition and I am listening to the rain with images and humor dashing around in my head while I review recent happenings. The 2nd Annual Tower-Soudan Garage Sales on July 25 and 26 were a blast. I did signage, maps and advertising, but did not have a sale this year because I felt much like going sale-ing instead. And it probably won’t surprise you to learn that I am intense about this sport. I actually plot my course ahead of time, wake up early with great anticipation, quickly get myself together...sometimes wearing light costume pieces and dash out the door. This year I took a beverage and two cheese sticks, but I left my baseball bat at home as I had decided there would be no swinging, shoving or knee breaking to get the treasure I laid eyes on first. My kind, lovely, gentle, new friend Ann Flannagan is up from the Cities and has been spending the summer at the Vermilion Park Inn in Soudan. Owner Mary sustained an injury in April, so Ann is assisting with housekeeping, kitchen work, and gardening in addition to having much fun. I usually go to garage sales myself because madness comes over me, but this year I am more jovial and tried to set it aside and do it with Ann. There can be no more contrast in how she and I approach garage sailing.
When you have someone with you, being patient and polite are important goals because it is their activity too. The sales were set to begin at 9 a.m., but that really means 8:30 a.m. or so, and I went to pick Ann up at the Inn but she did not appear, so I had to park my Jeep to run inside to fetch her. I felt a bit of angst and wondered if she’d forgotten and was still in pajamas but should have known better. I wandered into the kitchen where she was smiling and calmly putting breakfast fruit away. Oh god, I thought, my face tightening, “are you doing dishes?”  “Oh no” she replied, “Just putting this fruit away.” In my mind I was thinking...let sleeping fruit lie and lets just GO! I asked her if she was coming with me, and she said yes but thought covering the fruit was important. I breathed in deeply and helped her tug out a couple jaggedly torn pieces of Saran wrap that haphazardly covered the fruit plate. “Looks good” I said, knowing the early bird shoppers were already hovering around the sales, then grimaced as Ann said she had to go down to her room for her wallet...down the long, long hall to room six (nearly in Iowa), I thought.
Meanwhile, I sat on the sofa with owners Mike and Mary who were seated nearby having morning coffee. I should have remained silent, but somehow, I prompted Mike to start telling a story just as Ann reappeared from the walk to Iowa. I waited for about four sentences of Mike’s story as my anxiety surged and soon blurted out that we had to rush off to the sales!
It seemed an eternity had passed since I parked the Jeep, my hair nearly graying from its red dye job and I feared so many treasures to already be harvested. I kept all my self-centered thoughts to myself and decided to stop missing the point of this fun activity spent with a friend on a lovely yet hot summer day.
It was a challenge for me, to be sure, as I usually will quickly eye a sale, grab what looks prime for me and dart off to the next, but at the first stop I was challenged. Ann met up with old friends and began visiting while I skimmed, inspected, purchased and hauled a load to the car. Ann then sat down to visit, so I just breathed deeply, visited a bit like Ann, eyed up the florals in the gardens, paced the sidewalk a bit and tried to go with the flow. Ann picked up the cues, quickly looked at items and off we went to several sales.
People forget how to drive when they go to garage sales. Twice that day, men parked right in the middle of the alley so you could not get through. On one uphill alley, I had to drive in the grassy ditch to pass a truck as Ann’s eyes opened wide with concern I’d swipe an electrical pole. I must add that men at a garage sale can be the equivalent of a large blood clot...deep vein thrombosis blocking the road, then aisles, at the sale for their own convenience. It all worked out fine and was a great day with my temper arising only once to instruct one of those “blood clots” he may want to move his truck so folks could get by. On day two of the sale, I went by myself and picked up a few more things. Some of this year’s treasures include a nice Weber grill for $10, some lovely jewelry, a large white Tupperware canister, a beautiful dark green tablecloth with an ivy pattern, and a vintage large round ornate black tin with gold trim and a Renaissance lad in the center. It was identical to one that my mother had when I was growing up so when I saw it childhood memories sparked, and I had to purchase it. An additional piece I added to my garage sale loot was a vintage wrought iron circular headboard with spindles. This belonged to my friend Mary’s mother, and it was leaning next to her garage with a free sign on it. Actually, the sign never made it to be posted, because my hands were on it, getting the history of the piece from Mary who then said, “Scar take it.” So, it is now in my garden looking very spectacular leaning against a red crab apple tree. Ann found an antique wood Kraft cheese box she later fixed up, painting the inside yellow to hold her spools of sewing thread. Ann is “sew” lovely.
Later that day, after garage sales ended, son Keaton and I scouted out kittens in Hibbing that we had heard about through a friend. The intention was to add to my pack of two, tossing out the notion I need to wind down everything because I am in my 60s. We selected orange and white tabby brothers and named them Sully and Angus. I have had them for just over two weeks and am having an absolute ball that even generates the big belly laughs that have become rare.
Life is very good, and now the only thing that is really concerning me is recently discovering I have some house structure issues and am wondering whether I should take out an equity loan to get the whole place painted, possibly new windows, soffit and frames wrapped, plus repair on a back wall. “Oh boy…I think, here we go as a homeowner...but the roof is good!” I want to stay here a long while and think maybe slapping a good oil base bandage on much of it can tide me over, but only for about 15 years then more paint. So, how much does a gal spend? Only what is necessary, I conclude, and must figure it all out now.

This is when the concept of becoming a Trophy Wife comes into mind. Ditch it all, sell the place, procure Spanx for my remaining days, along with getting nails and hair done on a regular basis with extra appointments for plucking, waxing, facials, body wraps, injections, and mani/pedis as well. I do draw the line on all of Gwyneth Paltrow’s style of intrusive practices at the back of the train. Cripe, this Trophy Wife stuff doesn’t rest well with me.... not to mention I’m about 30 years too old. A life being led about on the arm of an older man, attending endless social functions while listening to men do all the talking, thinking and planning could never really be enough for this gal. I suppose you could shop as much as you wanted because money wouldn’t be an object and you’d never have to hide the purchases in the trunk until the old coot went to bed. Keeping company with kitties is much more pleasing for this garage-sale lover. Give me my cute house in Soudan, perennial gardens, projects, health, and I am good to go.