Estate Sales

My mother-in-law, Amanda, kicked the bucket (in her sleep, peacefully, without the usual requisite illness; really, my own mother said a few days later that’s the way she wants to go, the way Amanda did) and my father-in-law, Bill, started going to estate sales. He drives a boxy, red Ford truck with a handmade, wood-and-welded-iron bed extending from the cab. He spent two months of his retirement building this truck bed, and it’s a sturdy, monstrous-looking thing. On the highway, he cruises steadily at forty-five miles per hour, and I often pass him in the morning when he is on his way to a sale somewhere in Illinois and I am on my way to the university where I teach. On clear, fogless mornings, I know it’s his truck from about a mile back.

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I have this story under consideration at a few places now, so I'm pulling it from the blog. As is custom around here, give me a shout if you'd like to read the rest.

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