by Daniel ORourke
06-22-06
Its the season. Signs beckon as we drive by. They clutter lawns, sidewalks, porches and driveways. In the winter they are more rare. I speak of course of garage sales, barn sales, attic and yard sales, those informal marketplaces of used household stuff.
Garage sales deserve their due. They have a positive ecological impact. We should all reuse, repair and recycle. These sales make it easier. Besides, the thrifty, the careful, grad students and other poor can find bargains there. Connoisseurs search for rare and unusual items. Professional restorers look for goods to refurbish and resell. Landlords and cottages owners shop for inexpensive furniture and appliances. These sales earn money for charities and churches. Three cheers for attic and cellar days, but there is also a shadow side.
Some folks are addicted to these sales as to chocolate, gambling or alcohol. Its irrational but they cant help themselves. Theyre looking for something, but its more than the threadbare truism that one persons junk is anothers treasure. For there are few treasures buried in the heaping tables of paste jewelry, faded dolls, rusting tools and dog-eared paperbacks. Its not so much the purchase that attracts the addict, as the process. Like the hunter who never eats the venison but loves the hunt, addicts enjoy the psychological high not the physical purchase. They relish the retelling of the search and the bragging rights to hard sought bargains.
But whatever the motives of the customers, what can those old pictures, recycled toys, and aging knickknacks teach us? What are the life lessons lurking in those garages, driveways and front lawns? What is the message for our spirit?
The old coke bottles and discarded wristwatches shout the ancient wisdom of the saints and sages: all is impermanent; everything has its season -- and its end. There is a time to be born and a time to die. (Ecc. 3:2) Everything begins at some point, continues for a while and eventually passes. Rummaging through the tables can be a meditation. All this stuff displayed for recycling before it goes down for the last time reminds us of our own mortality. We too have built-in obsolescence.
These reflections dont have to make us morbid. Thoughts of our mortality are not a Halloween skeleton frightening us in the night. Rather, they are the non-directive words of a therapist nudging us to reflect on the purpose of living. Such musings can enlighten us, focusing our energy onto the thing that really matters. And the thing that really matters is not the cast-off merchandise displayed in the driveway. It is people, our family, relationships and friends.
In the long run the stuff doesnt matter at all; people do. Consumption and consumerism are the religion of possession, and possessions cloud our vision. Didnt Thoreau say as much? So did Francis of Assisi. Stuff wherever we buy it gets in the way. There are addicts in the malls too, compulsively buying name brand apparel, designer jeans or gadgets for kitchen or bath. Ironically, much of this high priced stuff eventually ends up on yard sale tables. Its people who count, not stuff. That appealing young woman in the faded photograph from a century ago was someones daughter, bride or mother. She is long gone. Now the frame that still holds her image is more valuable than her picture. Is the frame also more valuable than her memory? Is there anyone left to remember? Probably not or her dusty portrait would not be lying there between souvenir shot glasses from the Chicagos World Fair and a musty book on the Johnstown Flood.
What does that cigar box full of campaign ribbons, decorations, military buttons and arm patches teach us? Despite the famous army song, old soldiers do die. Its the insignias of their service, rank and unit that fade away. For some officer once these were the map and signposts of his military career. Compared to his integrity, honesty and humanity, however, they are only the trophies of his life not the core of it.
Discarded toys can also teach. Long ago someone selected them for a child with thought and care. Ohs and ahs sounded over them at a long forgotten birthday or holiday. Whether the gift became a favorite plaything or ended up seldom used on the bottom of the toy chest, what really matters were the thought, care and love prompting the gift. The doll or game might sell and for a while be used again, but in time it will eventually be on its way to the transfer station.
Some may ask, but what of the truly artistic and valuable relics from the past? The PBS series Antiques Roadshow has made us very aware of them. The show is a detailed televised appraisal of second-hand goods often found at flea markets and garage sales. Items that turned out to be much more valuable than what the buyer originally paid.
Of course these antiques should be preserved and restored, but arent the life lessons the same? No matter how valuable or beautiful the antiques, they too will eventually pass. We just slow down the process. Rust and mold, fire, hurricane, floods and war will eventually consume even them. Think Dresden, Coventry, Hiroshima -- or New Orleans.
Moreover, are these objects of beauty like stocks in a portfolio only for monetary gain? Antiques Roadshow emphasizes the financial worth, but is that economic value most important? Or are some things to be preserved and cherished for their age and beauty -- and because, as the mystics tell us -- they point to that Beauty ever ancient and ever new?
Daniel ORourke is a Member of the Federation of Christian Ministries and CORPUS. Hes a married Catholic priest, retired from the administration at State University College, Fredonia. A mediator for the Center for Resolution and Justice, he lives in Cassadaga, NY. His column appears the second and fourth Thursday of each month. Comments may be sent to orourke@netsync.net
