So sad to say my parents are no longer with us. Antone and Algerina Medeiros were so involved and interested in Fairhaven whether it was their church, local sports teams, or town events. They loved its history and finding interesting objects to keep. And that showed as their home is being cleaned and readied for sale.
My parents built the house in 1952, doing a lot of the work themselves. Over the years, they changed the interior, giving it that Colonial look they so liked and finishing the second floor when the family grew to have four kids.
Certainly, there were items that meant something to us four siblings. But, alas, that leaves so much more to sell or give away.
A bulk of the work has fallen on my brother Tony and his wife Patty, who live in that neighborhood. Both have a booth in a flea market, so they are familiar with that kind of business. Early on we decided to hold an estate sale to raise money to cover such costs as a dumpster, getting rid of mattresses, etc.
I live about three hours away, depending on the traffic, so I came when I could like the day we sorted and cleaned the cellar. Among the objects there were the antique bottles, enough to fill a wall, my parents dug out of a town dump before it was closed. I was there for dumpster day when we carried what wasn’t fit to be sold into a big metal box.
I came early last Saturday to help with the estate sale. Each room had items organized and priced, thanks to Patty. As I walked among them, I recalled the memories they held.
There was the old Singer sewing machine my seamstress mother used to create special articles of clothing like my prom gowns and the wedding dress from my first marriage. She relied on her sewing wizardry to make oh-so-many costumes for the shows St. Mary’s Church used to hold— more in a little while. A basket held tools my mother used to create scrimshaw. There were the religious statues my devout father collected. The tools he used to tend his vegetable garden were displayed on the lawn outside.
I remembered where each piece of furniture had been.
I did find two things I wanted to keep — a pine needle basket my mother asked me to make for her and a quilt rack Hank built her from redwood.
About those costumes. St. Mary’s Church used to have fundraising shows with themes. People sang and did routines. I was in the first, a minstrel show, when I was a teenager. My father, who loved being in the spotlight, was always one of the stars. He’d dress as Napoleon, Elvis, Uncle Sam, King Kamehameha, the list goes on. Dad also wore those costumes to town functions. I laughed when I saw the dress my mother created so Dad could pretend he was Shirley Temple. There were two life-sized ostriches and a shark costume.
Patty handled the payments. Tony and I hung out in various part of the house, greeting people and talking about the stories behind the objects they were interested in perhaps buying. The second day, everything was half price. As I write this piece, Saturday, May 30, the sale continues. I am not attending this one.
So many times, I heard people say with a sympathetic voice how they had to clean out a relative’s home. It’s made me look hard at what we own although moving 2,400 miles twice within 11 years has helped to keep our belongings slim.
What doesn’t sell will be donated. And then Patty and I have chosen which day she and I will spend scrubbing the home clean. But no matter how hard we work, the house on Jesse Street will never be rid of the wonderful memories it holds.