The lady who lives across the street had to go into a nursing home early this year and while the signs for auction of her house have been up for some time, no date was listed. Today, they are setting out tables for the stuff; she’d lived there since 1941 so I don’t know if they are going to take a day to set up or not.

I don’t know if I will go over, although I’m certain she has things from the past that have not left that house for decades. Then, again, I have the same situation since Mother did not want an estate sale. People used to tell me about my mother’s good taste and possession of old antiquey things and ask, “When’s the sale?” And I would say there wasn’t going to be one. I have given away some things, but it is difficult to know what people of different generations would appreciate.

At some time, people would go to antique stores and auctions and buy “instant ancestors” i.e., pictures from the late 1800’s of some solemn, unknown old person staring out from a gilt frame. I have two above our flat screen TV; the best you can say about it is eclectic. I suspect some family members would have liked to have them, but these pictures, enhanced with the techniques of the time, are of my grandmother’s parents and I remember her talking about them. They are not some people who are identified solely by their slots on a high branch of a family tree.

My great grandmother was a very nice lady, according to things my grandmother recalled people telling her and gleamed from wrinkly old letters and cards. My great-great Aunt Sara once said, “I always thought so much of your mother.” For Aunt Sara, that was something, indeed. My great-grandfather would stand where the lane intersected Rte.120 with a lantern so my grandmother could see where to turn when she returned from teaching school after dark in the winter. Sometimes she would fall asleep and the horse would bring her home.

Once, when she was young, Grandma ran up behind her father who was using a scythe and her leg was almost severed. She lay for weeks on a horse hair sofa with the leg elevated by being suspended from sofa’s back. I know her parents were sick with worry and her father racked with undeserved guilt.

These pictures are primitive when it comes to portraits; they certainly are not made of pixels. They stare out at me in my house because I was very close to Grandma and they were her parents, They have come down through the maternal line with feeling. So I kept them, even though there are other descendants with the same last name as theirs.

It would be a good idea for me to actually consider decorating with new wallpaper or designer paint, but I’ve never been one to think about out-dated decors or furniture. So I guess my great-grandparents fit right in.

I read that some people think they are smarter in the morning; judging from my whimsical post title up there, I would tend to believe I am not one of them.

So, moving on . . .

I just realized this is an upsetting situation: It is September 11th and I am in a frivolous mood. I just woke up that way; it’s kind of like having hiccups at a recital.

i feel very personal today and so when I remembered the date, I immediately thought how things have changed for me since then. In 2001, the grandkids were little, my mother was going strong, Little Ann and Sydney were are dogs and when Der Bingle called to tell me a plane had flown into the World Trade Center, I assumed it was a little plane and an accident.

Well, writing that paragraph has sobered me up and widened my view; I remember sitting in the chair in the sitting room watching the continuous news coverage and watching in real time as the building collapsed. It took awhile to accept that this was no movie scene.

Perhaps I am experiencing something such as the scene between Katherine Hepburn and John Wayne in the movie Rooster Cogburn where she comes upon Wayne and the Indian Boy throwing corn muffins into the air and then shooting them, as in primitive skeet shooting. She was angry and asked why they were shooting corn muffins in a meadow and her father lay newly dead and the killer at large. Wayne replied they were celebrating and when she asked what they were celebrating, he answered, “Being alive, Sister, being alive.