Down the Rabbit Hole

I had an appointment this morning at 10:00 AM downtown. I arrived early so I decided to drive around and look at the beautiful architecture of the old homes in old downtown Sacramento. On 23rd and S street was a yard sale sign. No reason to stop, no need to buy anything, no time to really spend doing that, but something pulled me. I looked at the small driveway and saw industrial type items, an old propeller, a metal chair, rusty tools. Don't even look, I told myself. Still, the pull. On thing I have learned very late in this life is to listen to that little voice in my head. When it whispers, I want to understand it. When it begins to grow louder, I think there must be a reason. Who knows? So I listened.
I perused the old objects and saw nothing of interest. Okay, I am just killing time before my appointment, I rationalized. Then, this lovely, sweet, happy man stepped out and said, "Oh, the art work is inside the house." "Don't tell me that!" I exclaimed. But of course I went in. The first thing I saw was a painting of a ski area that looked like June Mountain. Curious. Then I saw an antique painting of trees that looked like one of my mother's old paintings. Curiouser. And then, there it was, a beautiful hand painted watercolor of Paris that I wanted to get for Kameron and KC for their surprise (which may still take me years to do at this rate!). I thought it would be quite expensive for an original watercolor, but he said it might be a print so it was only ten dollars. I looked again and I said I thought it is an original. (I know, I should keep quiet sometimes!) He looked again and agreed but still said ten dollars anyway, for my honesty.

Another couple was looking at the beautiful original pieces of jewelry he had created decades ago. They offered what I thought was an insulting price for a beautiful large agate stone piece. He politely declined saying that it meant more than that to him. They again offered another insulting price and, again, he declined. "So, for a few bucks, you'll lose this sale and we will never return!" the man huffed. "For a dollar, I'd be happy if you never returned." he replied. Without thinking, I applauded. They left and we began to talk about the crazy way people seemed to be behaving recently in all areas of life. He then showed me beautiful dishes from the fifties, old LP's, all things of interest to me, to Kameron, to KC, to Kenton. But I tried to stay focused and not go crazy! I bought the Paris painting, the tree painting and a beautiful hand tinted picture for less than twenty dollars. He went to get change for me and I said no. I wanted to show him that what he had was worth it to me and that maybe I could make up for rude people, if only for that day. He smiled and asked if I was an artist. I said "No, but I play one on TV!" I told him about the true artists in our family, my mom, my Uncle Jim, my Great Aunt Edith, your drawings and writings, Kenton's music and art,  Kameron's musical ear and gift of knowledge. Then I shared the story of the only painting Kameron ever made. I still love that story. I had finally bought the very expensive tubes of watercolor that I wanted and knew the tiny tubes would last my entire painting career. I came home one day and Kameron had used them to paint a canvas in a colorful modern art design. It was quite good, but he said "Wow, Mom, these little tubes don't go far. They barely covered the whole canvas!" I smiled, complimented his creation, then told him never to allow the painting to get near water (as dried watercolors reconstitute!), but I believe it is hanging in their bathroom now. I was sharing this story as the gentleman was carrying the paintings to my car, when he sat them down and said, "Wait! I'll be back."
He returned after a few minutes of what he said was a "search" and handed me the largest flat tin of watercolors I had ever seen! He had opened it to show me the paints inside. It was probably from the fifties, and was used and messy and missing a few of the 76 color pots, but I didn't see any of that. He began to apologize for the condition and I was moved almost to tears. Almost. Then he said, "I think you and your children would enjoy using these." He closed the lid and then I was moved to tears that I could not explain to him. Curiouser and curiouser. I knew you were there and smiling and laughing and knowing exactly why my heart was bursting. He could not have known, but you did. And once again, happily this time, down the rabbit hole I slid.

This is the tin! (Picture from Christie's auction)