Temp in car. 106.
I woke up early and put on my Kelly-green suede sneakers. I was ready for the hunt. In fact, I had been waiting for this one.
The estate sale was in Bel Air, on Stone Canyon, right near the Beverly Hillbillies house. But this was no hillbilly mansion. This was exquisite.
But let me not get ahead of myself.
I had coffee. Took some water. Put on my green suede sneaks and hopped into the car. I knew it would be crowded, but nothing prepared me for what I was about to step into.
Hell.
Yes, hell—mostly because it was 106 degrees outside, and I do not do well in the heat. But I was on a mission.
I had seen some very special treasures advertised online. They were perfect for Basic French, so I stepped out of my air-conditioned car, into the heat, and straight into a throng of treasure hunters who had traveled from far and wide for this particular estate sale.
Did I say it was 106?
I arrived on time, but there was nowhere to park. I had not factored that into the equation. So I did something rather cheeky: I moved a few trash cans and squeezed my car into a space not far from the Stone Canyon house.
Then I went straight for the silver.
Much to my chagrin, I was not the first one there. I wasn’t even the second. I may have been the hundredth. A few of the pieces I had been coveting had already been snatched up by other scavengers.
But I stayed focused. I had a job to do.
Did I say it was 106?
In the living room, I found a table that had already been thoroughly picked over. But they had missed a few very special pieces. I grabbed them, hurried to the checkout table and asked the lovely people there to hold them for me.
Then I returned to hell—I mean, Stone Canyon—and kept rummaging.
I looked inside cupboards. I crawled under tables. I peered behind things. And somehow, tucked among everything that had been overlooked, I found a few more treasures.
Pleased with my discoveries, I decided it was time to pay.
And this is where the real fun began.
The payment area had been set up outside, and the line wrapped around the estate. I stood in the blazing sun for more than an hour.
Did I say it was 106?
At some point, I began to think I wasn’t going to make it. I wiped the sweat from my forehead. My beautiful green suede sneakers no longer felt quite so jaunty. The silver in my arms grew heavier by the minute, and I began seriously considering whether one could faint elegantly while clutching a Victorian sugar bowl.
And then I started to laugh.
Not a polite little chuckle. Full-out, slightly hysterical laughter rising straight from my overheated belly.
Basic French is about savoring the moment. Enjoying a gentle breeze. Gathering fresh flowers. Sitting down with a lovely glass of wine. Lighting a candle before dinner simply because it’s Tuesday.
And what was I doing?
Standing in a driveway in Bel Air, dripping with sweat, clutching an armful of tarnished silver and trying not to lose consciousness.
Did I say it was 106?
Eventually, I made it to the front of the line. I paid for my treasures, gathered them into my arms and staggered back to the car.
The moment the air-conditioning hit my face, I knew it had all been worth it.
Because sometimes living beautifully means fresh flowers, cool linen and a candle lit before dinner.
And sometimes it means moving a few trash cans, crawling beneath a table and nearly fainting in Bel Air for the one extraordinary thing everyone else failed to see.
Every vessel tells a story.
These began theirs at 106 degrees.
The moment the air-conditioning hit my face, I knew it had all been worth it.
Especially because of one peculiar little silver object I had found among the things everyone else had overlooked. It looked like a miniature wagon with two round vessels perched above four spoked wheels. I imagined filling them with wax and lighting two tiny candles.
Fortunately, I looked it up before I did.
It was not made for candles. It was an early-nineteenth-century Sheffield silver-plate wine wagon, designed to carry two bottles of port or sherry around the dining table.
Sometimes living beautifully means fresh flowers, cool linen and a candle lit before dinner.
And sometimes it means moving a few trash cans, crawling beneath a table and nearly fainting in Bel Air for the one extraordinary thing everyone else failed to see.
Every vessel tells a story.
This one began by carrying the wine—and found me at 106 degrees.