Less Stately Mansions

Dear You,

Since I had no intention to buy anything at the estate sale, I Sherlocked through the rooms, picking up conclusions. The mistress had died -- no clothes remained in her half of the closet, and the bathroom held only male accessories. The master was shedding most of the possesions, retaining only what would fit in his new, smaller abode-to-be (this bed is for sale; that one is not).

Doubtless they met in college -- a little place in Missouri, judging by the memorabilia on the bookselves. One of them wrote papers on a manual Smith-Corona portable typewriter (still in its case, the ribbon worn through to useless). She was an English major, and later taught the subject in high school (why did she hang on to that collection of Cliff's Notes?); he studied something more technical, and when computers came into vogue, tried to keep up with the changes, even buying a couple of the Dummies series.

They wore out a Monopoly game with the grandchildren, who visited them in this over-55 community, and no doubt took them out on the pontoon boat moored off the dock behind the house ("Taking bids until Saturday at noon!!!") Fishing tackle was still nicely organized on one wall of the garage. She liked to play bridge; poker was his game. They once traveled to Haiti.

In "The Chambered Nautilus" Holmes wrote: "Build more stately mansions, oh, my soul!" Here, however, the little lake-side house was giving way to a smaller space, and somewhere, someone in a bigger home will be downsizing to this one. And probably will be having a garage sale before the moving van arrives.