The Marketplace of Ideas

I like to think of myself as fairly easy-going, but I don’t cope well with garage sales.

Over the years, I’ve prowled my share and even found a treasure or two, like these mint condition Woolenius tiles manufactured in Berkeley in the early 1900s. But artifacts of the Arts and Crafts movement are hard to come by, and the thought of hours spent pawing through plastic soap dishes and mismatched cutlery no longer appeals. People with growing children in need of clothing or toys, inveterate readers, Ebay resellers or folks with truly limited income no doubt have a different perspective.  But I’m not a shopper, and I’m trying to simplify my life.  In my world,  garage sales rarely meet real needs. They provide little more than a few hours of distraction and an indiscriminate pile of “stuff”  to be hauled home and squirreled away before being “repurposed” by sending it off to Goodwill.

William Morris and the Naked Toaster

If it hadn’t been for the mouse, I might never have had the memories.

Caught by its tail beneath the kitchen sink, desperate to escape but unable to flee because of the plywood and metal spring holding it fast, the poor creature cowered before the shrieking woman who’d discovered it.   Unable to bring herself to carry it outdoors to free it and even more unwilling to dispatch it in place, the woman – my mother – made a reasonable choice. Grabbing her white enameled dishpan with the rusting edge and the unfortunate dent, she plopped it over the mouse. Slamming the cupboard doors closed she turned and looked at me, the only witness to her bravery. “There,” she said. “That’ll hold him until your father comes home.”