Can’t Do It All
Lynn Horton is a freelance writer and editor who in another lifetime taught English and Creative Writing at McIntosh High School and later worked in the Starr’s Mill High School Media Center.

Can’t Do It All

Lynn Horton is a freelance writer and editor who in another lifetime taught English and Creative Writing at McIntosh High School and later worked in the Starr’s Mill High School Media Center.

I was sad to have missed the clock dedication Sunday evening. Bill and I were among a number of residents who donated funds to repair the lovely tall clock on the corner by Table Talk in downtown Senoia. We were especially proud to be part of that community effort, and we had planned to be there for the 5:45 p.m. event, but….It turned out to be a cold and dreary day, an even colder evening, and we just could not drag ourselves from in front of the cozy fireside where we had spent much of the day, drinking hot chocolate, watching Hallmark movies, dozing and trying to thaw out after Saturday’s chilly day-long trip to the GaTech/Virginia Tech Game. Brrrr.
We also missed what turned out to be the best place to be post-game last Saturday night—the Senoia Area Historical Society’s Annual Auction. But we discovered that after leaving the house at 8 AM in order to enjoy a tailgate breakfast in The Varsity parking lot (provided completely by my daughter—we felt spoiled) and participating in all the cool pregame stuff, including The Alley parade led by the iconic Rambling Wreck, then an amazing band concert at the Student Center in gorgeous, sunny 40 degree weather, traipsing all over campus, over hill and dale, up and down bleachers like mountain goats, and getting home at dark thirty, why, we were worn out! But it had been a wonderful day. Our grandson, a freshman, is playing snare drum for the GaTech marching band; right out in front, leading the troops. And as much as we hated to miss the auction, which according to Facebook posts had a great crowd, lots of convivial laughter and much friendly vying  for some very real bargains, we are just too old to try and “do it all” these days. There are few days as special as this one was; one to be savored.
I can’t help but recount our first experience with both the Historical Society and their Auction four years ago, and just a few months after we had moved to Senoia from the home we had built in south Peachtree City 32 years before. We had finally “downsized,” which meant four pickup truck loads to the dump, two more full of “good stuff” to A Better Way Ministries plus a giant Yard Sale. We had everything we needed plus a new walk-in attic filled with boxes yet to be unpacked and a wall in the garage of things too good to give away or sell, but which we had no place for in our new home. In other words, we did not Need a Thing when we pulled up to the November 2014 SAHS Auction on Couch Street. There were not two blank walls, not space on any mantle, or a cabinet that wasn’t filled to capacity in the modest house. Long story short: Bill slipped out of the room to find the restroom and before he could get back to his seat beside me, I had bought a giant cherry highboy! These things just happen. One minute you’re sitting there all smiling and smug when the devil grabs hold of your hand and up goes your paddle, not once but three times! SOLD !
I wonder how many times that happened Saturday night? I am guessing there were more than a few folks asking themselves, “Now where am I going to put this thing?” And yet, there is something so infectious in the call of “Who’ll give me ten, gimme ten, now twenty, I’ve got thirty, thirty,” that we find ourselves happily paying the cashier at the end of an evening, usually looking forward to the next exciting chance to find another unsought-after treasure.
Bill (and obviously a big slice of American males) seems to be completely taken with what I believe to be the newest TV programming success; the televised auction of fancy automobiles. Is it this same unchecked urge that causes both men, women and unseen telephone bidders to get caught up in the flurry of rising bids, caught up to the tune of thousands, hundreds of thousands, even millions of dollars!? Like Bill, I watch the feverish excitement, the bidding, the final cry of “Sold!” and wonder, “Where in the world do these people get this kind of money?” They look like us, for crying out loud.
Oh, well. It takes all kinds, my momma used to say. And these folks she would say were “filthy rich.” Haven’t used that term lately. Probably part of our lexicon that is no longer politically correct. Actually, I feel that the term “politically correct” is something of a hoot, a misnomer. What’s Correct these days about anything Political?? Beats me.
Speaking of “filthy rich;” Saturday I paid $14 for one pretzel, one box of stale nachos with a glob of canned cheese on the side and a cup of lukewarm “hot” chocolate at the stadium. The lines of other people waiting to pay $6 for a bottle of water were crushingly long. $6 for a bottle of water. No kidding. I shared my pretzel with Bill, dumped my box of nachos uneaten except for two bites, and gave Leslie her warm chocolate with my apologies. Is this truly the best these concessionaires can do? They should be ashamed to take these students’ (and their retired grandparents’) hard-earned bucks.
There is no telling what I could have bought at the auction with $14!