As seems to be the wife's habit, we arrived just as the auctioneer was finishing up his opening spiel.

Which still includes the old name "MasterCharge", and the request that all personal checks have the money in the bank to back them up.

Me, I would prefer to arrive a little earlier, to have at least a few minutes to peruse the auction items before they get on the block. Not to mention getting a couple of the softer chairs in the front rows.

But, there was a surprisingly small crowd (never heard a number higher than 71), and we still managed to get into the second row, in front of the block.

Padded chairs.

But a few minutes of scouting may have saved us some money. One of the first items up was an old trumpet, in its case. But without the mouthpiece. Well, mouthpieces aren't that hard to come by, and as grandpa mentioned, if someone's been blowing into it for years, not having the mouthpiece is probably just as well.

Well, youngest son has always wanted to play trumpet. It was even his first choice on the first day of band so many years ago. But the instructor and I talked him out of it, 'cause they already had six kids signed up for trumpet. As I explained then, baritone is the same, just bigger.

So, the wife started the bidding at $2.50. Against someone in the back. When it broke $20, I thought about nudging her to quit.

I didn't.

She got it, for $32.50. Upon inspection, she noticed immediately the brass plating was flaking off.

Me, I noticed the bell had been completely crumpled in, and then pulled back out.

It's worthless. Except maybe as a wall decoration in a restaurant.

Kinda soured the entire auction. We even left early.

'Course, right afterwards we went to the grocery store, and bought 3-4 days' worth of food. For over $118. All of a sudden the waste of thirty dollars didn't seem so significant.

Soon after was a handful of horseshoes. "Enough for a five-legged horse", the auctioneer announced.

"Professional grade", he added.

Yep, the pitching kind.

Another box of horseshoes came up much later in the auction, the working kind. Grandpa's voice got suddenly sober, as he explained "You gotta be careful with horseshoes."

"Hang 'em upside down, and your luck'll run out."

An egg incubator, probably fifty years old and still in the box, couldn't raise $2.50. With the complaint that "It's worth that just as a conversation piece." But all they got was one dollar. From a man in the front row who looked like he's spent the past twenty years living alone in the desert.

And, maybe he has.

When grandpa announced having a dumbbell on the block, his son gestured at the front right row and announced, "There's like, four, right here!"

Most of this auction was the collection of one of the auctioneer spotters, who had gathered antiques and junk for a decade or two for his antique shop in town. Now he and his wife were moving, and clearing out their inventory. So, the out-of-town antique buyers were all there, as well as the local collectors. But most of the wares were stuff that didn't sell in their store.

I.e., the junk.

A box of old bottles came up, too many to lay out on the block. Grandpa explained they were from everything, from medicine to whiskey.

"Well, whiskey is medicine, so we'll just call them all old medicine bottles."

Later, when another box came up, grandpa pulled out one old medicine bottle and began reading the label. Seems this miracle potion cured all sorts of human ailments, including, and I quote, "dropsy, hives, 'female complaints', and leprosy." I was tempted to bid just to have the entire label, but the antiquers took the price too high.

An old chimney brush came up, still in the box. "What size?" asked the desert rat.

Now, this was a question they were totally unprepared for. Had to look to find it was a 10-inch. Too big, by the look on the man's face. They suggested he could always trim it down to fit.

An awful lot of discussion for a $1 sale.

A half-pint milk bottle full of old marbles, including at least three clays, went for $17.50. So maybe I didn't do so bad with my buys in previous auctions.

The most touching item in the auction was a doll. A plain doll, 29" tall, with blonde hair done up in what they called a "Princess Leia" bun. With a plain, faded grey-maroon dress that looked like it was from an old curtain. Tattered on the bottom edge.

With it came a note. Handwritten in 1993.

"This doll..." it began, " was made for my grandmother, by her grandmother...".

In 1910.

How in the world could this ever come on the market? How desperate would a woman have to be to part with a doll, made for her grandmother, by her own great-great-grandmother?

Then again, maybe the note writer was male?...

Bidding didn't start until it was down to ten dollars. Ended at $47.50.

But the item itself? ... Priceless.

Three cans of Billy Beer (Anybody else remember "Billy Beer"?) went for $2.50. And that included a little metal pyramid that the wife explained was a toaster. She actually remembers toasting bread on one of those things, somewhen in her life.

Oddly, one of the first items to show some fast and furious bidding was an antique mold for making taper candles. Which can't be that old, because in olden times, they didn't make taper candles from molds. But it went for $37.50.

An old lawn croquet set, in perfect condition with bright colours and white wickets, went for only $55. And I caught myself rubbing the scar on my forehead as it went off the block.

The highest priced item before lunch (and the vehicles and furniture) was...

A bird bath.

A cast iron, three-piece bird bath. Rose rapidly from a starting bid of just $2.50 to finally sell at $155.00. The antique buyers from Aspen got it, and quickly, immediately hustled it outside to their vehicle. Like they'd just made the buy of the year.

I liked the message on her t-shirt:

"And thou shalt have dominion over the animals... except, of course, for the cat."

The auctioneer was losing his voice quickly (his doctor had given him meds for his hoarse throat that would, and I quote, "Either cure you, or kill you."), so they had again invited their apprentice auctioneer. His cadence was better, but still hypnotic, so the item was often sold before you realized he had been changing bid calls.

As they loaded a tent on the block, there was a horrible clatter of metal.

The auctioneer had dropped the tent poles all over the concrete floor, like pixie sticks.

"Welcome to the auctioneering business," the apprentice chided on the microphone. And got the briefest glare from his boss.

"Isn't that what you told me, the first time I dropped something?"

As the apprentice finished describing the tent, and answering the question about how big it was (How big do you want it?"), the auctioneer quietly added...

"And there's a hole in the bag."

A box of nylon tow ropes went for $32.50. Pretty sure it was for the old wooden ammo box, not the ropes.

The Lionel trains? $40.00.

A plastic tray of fishing lures? $17.50. Must be really old lures. Or really good ones. Whole, complete tackle boxes later sold for less.

A box of Sports Illustrated Swimsuit Editions from the 80s and 90s went for only three bucks. Basically because I was too slow to bid with the apprentice calling. Whereas a box of the same magazines with Michael Jordan on the covers went for $57.50.

The John Elway collected editions? Twenty bucks.

Dan Merino and Larry Byrd? Only $2.00.

The wife leaned in to whisper, asking why the Swimsuit Editions would go so cheap?

Everybody already has those, I told her.

A box of junk had no takers, even at a dollar. They added more junk.

Still no takers.

The auctioneer leaned over the block to the apprentice. "Say 'Please'", he whispered.

"Pleease", the apprentice pleaded, just as he had at the last auction.

A gal on the far right raised her hand. And "Sold!" came flying out of his mouth.

"Now say thank you," the auctioneer reminded, no longer in a whisper.

"Thank you."

And on we went.

Grandpa soon took over the mike again, and one of the next boxes had a mishmash of knick-knacks, with a description that "there's a little pornography in there." Nodding to the teenaged boy they hired as a spotter, he instructed "Show them that good lookin' naked woman, there."

The kid didn't really know where to grab the brass statue to lift it up.

"That's art", one of the regular spotters reprimanded.

To be continued...