The stairway to antiquarian heaven rarely leads down, so when we were directed to the basement at yesterday’s estate sale all hopes of leather bindings and paisley endpapers drifted away on the rich tones of the antique music box playing in the living room. Sure enough, all it took was a single glance at the single offering and we were back out on the street heading for the car. The familiar green bindings and gilt titles of the Delphian Society Course beg the inexperienced seller to come hither. But she who surrenders to seduction is guaranteed to regret it in the morning, internet pricing to the contrary. The Delphian Society printed these babies in huge numbers for the edification of women on all things cultural and commanded a big price for the privilege which is why so many sets have survived.
All we could do was head home in the cold, drizzly gloom. Of the seven estate sales in the greater Akron area this weekend the one we’d just left was the only one in which the word books wasn’t bracketed in the ad by two flashing warning lights. Nothing cools my ardor faster than the words toys and DVDs sharing a sentence with books. For at least ten miles the car filled with lamentations (mostly mine) worthy of a full-out Greek chorus.
But then -- like Brigadoon rising from the mist -- came a wondrous sight. On a hilly road bordering the Metropark in a tiny flea-sized town, emerged a scene that stopped me cold in mid-complaint. A tiny flea-market, yard sales like mushrooms, AND a library book sale all within walking distance! Cars, cyclists and pedestrians swarmed like honeybees, but no matter what the outcome would be this was pure nectar from the gods. The book sale had been underway about forty-five minutes, so we started our adventure there. At first glance it seemed dubious, but with only three other browsers, a refreshingly casual and congenial staff, and bargain basement prices, far be it from me to whine. So we settled in, took it book by book, and wound up with three nice volumes– a treatise on farrier science, a book on making a violin with laid-in patterns, and a brand new, recently published, Civil War book signed by its author. Total outlay -- $1.50; competitive retail value $85, most of which was claimed by the violin book.
From there we headed to the mini-flea market which hosted maybe fifteen dealers. We didn’t buy a thing, but Eric gets an immediate adrenaline hit whenever boxes of rusty things turn up and I relish the novelty of doing Normal People Things on a Saturday. For 40 years Eric has been chained to the store, so Saturdays at country festivals rarely occur and when they do it’s like playing hooky from school. Even the yard sales, which normally don’t thrill me, seemed ringed with Christmas lights so when I snagged the entire 13 volume hard cover set of Lemony Snicket’s A Series of Unfortunate Events in their original slipcase for $8 the lights actually twinkled.
By the time we’d inspected everything from a portable drill with no battery pack to plants dug up from the backyard, sloshed through a pumpkin patch, and checked out the old houses, my feet had frozen inside my sodden shoes (yes, THOSE shoes pictured a couple posts back), my nose resembled a stop sign, and my hands were welded to the inside of my pockets. But never mind -- we returned home happy as squirrels laden with winter bounty. And the best part is we’d sprung for a loaf of homemade cinnamon raisin bread. Eric sliced, I made coffee, and we settled in for a late breakfast just like Normal People on a typical Saturday.
And then we both went happily to work.
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