Estate Sale, Part Two

I’m really not a fan of the overly-confessional blog post. Especially with Daddy Blogs.

And, I have the attention span of a first-grader. (And, since, I have one of those, I know. Daddy, Daddy! The dog looks exactly the same as before! Look! He’s still brown!!!)


My blog is usually short. I’m usually a quick-in and quick-out blog poster. (Please, no That’s What She Said jokes…)

But, I’m making an exception here. I recently posted about the passing of my brother, and now there’s an official-sounding “Estate Sale.” (Which is the polite way of saying that he died and now they want to sell his stuff…)

Some of you may have wandered through this mess a day or two ago… My brother, Jay, died a few months ago. He was a wonderful human being. People were wonderfully gracious with their condolences. (This post gets funnier and more poignant. Trust me.)

I want thank everyone for all of their kind words for a remarkably sad/yet wonderfully cathartic couple of days.

First of all, I want to make sure that you know that I know that I am not the first person ever to have lost anyone close. It’s just that this is the first time that I have Personally lost someone so close. So, my feelings are raw. (I suppose my emotions will echo with those of many others.)

The Estate Sale this weekend went remarkably well, or painfully sad (Perspective.)

People carted off my brother Jay’s desk. His dining room table. That armchair that I despise. His “All in the Family” VHS tapes. Yes. Tools and light bulbs. Forks and knives. Toothpaste.

Also, people bitched about a one-dollar charge for an ethernet cable because they had to pay sales tax.

And, that goddamn roll of paper towels. They were asking a quarter! Don’t offer twenty cents! It’s a fucking Quarter!

My wonderful wife, Lynn, who many of you know professionally as “curlygirl” (because of the hair) was a rock, considering that Jay was also her big brother (biggest, really). Even at 5-foot-1. For 30 years. And now he is gone. She misses him deeply, too. Tears aplenty. Love.

If you are keeping score, the sale was a monstrous success. The contents of the house were almost completely sold. The tables and the lamps and the drawers. Also, the magazines and the garlic salt and the ballpoint pens. Seriously, ballpoint pens. The Carpet Fresh and the Dust Buster.

So, we walked around the house at the end. No washer. No fridge. No TV. No bed. No sofa. Nothing else.

But, Lynn and I are satisfied that we bought/asked politely/bitched about/and ultimately took the essence of my wonderful brother through his art collection, furniture, and the photo album from 1978 that was marked “junk mail to shred.” We saved that one.

Our house will be filled with his essence. And, honestly, we will think of him more often now than before he passed. We had to pay a pretty penny, but we got the best of his best. It was worth every single cent.

Again, thank you for your messages. If you can help it, please don’t die.

Estate Sale

Ok, more going personal than you care for…

My brother died a few months ago. Today was the first day of his Estate Sale, which is a term you don’t expect to be assigned to a 50-year-old

All of his stuff is up for sale. Everything. Tables. Paper towels. Cloves of garlic. Copies of Prevention magazine.

And, I have to ask the “Guy” if I want his bookshelves or coffee table or forks or DVDs or paper towels.

He was my brother. Shit. My brother.

But, there’s a dollar price… Which I can’t afford. Plus, frankly, I always Hated that horrible armchair. And, my garage is already full. Where would I put your stuff? Why did you die? Why?

So, I have to ask the “Guy” for stuff that my brother would have happily given me. Like his comic books from 1978. And his High School Algebra II workbook. Or his One Act Play from 1980, or that copy of 1998’s Maxim magazine with Jessica Alba.

But, now I have to ask for it, or actually pay for it.

So, you see, kind of a rough week for me.

Number Cubes

Helping Julianna with her homework (she’s 9).

Instructions: “Roll the number cubes to randomly forward your personal representation on the gaming platform.”

Me (to Lynn, The Fun Time’s wonderful Mommy on the other side of the house): Honey, what is a “number cube?” And what is a “personal representation?”

Lynn (from a distant location in the house): They are “dice” and “the race car or shoe from Monopoly.”

Because a 9-year-old would understand this. A middle aged daddy, not so much.

(And, yes, “dice” are now called “number cubes.”)

My Son

On the way home from gymnastics:

Isabella (she’s 7): Daddy, you have a son.

Me: Honey, those allegations were never proven in court. What have you heard?

Iz: No, Daddy. Merlin!

She is talking about our new puppy.

Me: Oh, I see where you are going. Well, Sweetie. He is a dog, not my son.

Iz: Did you pay for him?

Me: Well, he was a rescue dog. So, not really. There were some processing fees, I guess.

Iz: Did you pay for me?

Me: Um, you can’t buy actual people. Nowadays. You were more of a…. Gift. A Surprise Gift. A Gag Gift, really.

Iz: Daaaaaad!

Me: But, we didn’t have a receipt, so we couldn’t take you back.

Iz: Stop that.

(Yes. This is the level of discourse we have in the car.)

Dying Young

In the car with Julianna (she’s 9)…

J: What is he saying?

Me: Billy Joel? “Only the good die young.”

J: Why is he saying that?

Me (uh oh): Well, Sweety, Sometimes Good people die before bad people. You see…

Billy: “Catholic girls start much too late.”

Me: Tell me about it.

J: Huh, what?… But you are a Good person and you’re not dead yet.

Me: Well, maybe I am not as good as you think, I suppose.

J: But. You are not Terrible. And, you are also not Great.

Me: Ego calibration in tact.

J: But… You are Stupid.

Me: Thanks you for that.

J: And also, Fat.

Shoulder Update

So, two weeks after my most recent shoulder surgery, I still can’t sleep on my left side. Much like a pregnant woman can’t sleep on her stomach. Which probably explains my wild mood swings, craving for ice cream and pickles, and Braxton Hicks contractions (though that might just be last night’s burrito kicking me…)

Otherwise, recovery continues.