Sold ... to number 34

I really wasn't worried about the day. I thought the tears were gone. All dried up. No more to shed. But five minutes before arriving at the location, my gut began to panic. And it told me to be prepared for some not-so-joyful emotions.

We got to fair grounds in WaKeeney, KS and made our way to the event's location through the dirt-turned-mud parking lot. Opened the door and my eyes were greeted with something unexpected ... seemingly endless tables covered with seemingly endless stuff. From old garden tools to bed linens, furniture and dishes to knick knacks. Virtually everything from 132 8th Street was there.

A wave of disbelief took over ... surely they won't sell each item, one by one? While shuffling across the dusty, concrete floor, I perused the tables. Much of it was unfamiliar - a good thing. But then I saw it. The first item that tugged at my heart and simultaneously at my tears. The letters that hung on the basement wall. The ones that represented Grammy, Papa and all their children.

With some difficulty, I remained composed, a state that didn't last long. While chatting with mom and aunt, cousin approached. "I'm taking the box of old pictures. I'll pay $500, but no one will be bidding on those today." A slight crack in his voice. I nearly lose it. Tears well up. A couple break the surface.

I move away to appear occupied. To let the moment pass. But I picked the wrong spot to achieve this. Mindlessly sorting through stacks and stack of piano books, I come across "The Rose." That was his favorite. How could this be here?

Another difficult moment passed, only to be joined by more. The morning flew by ... National Geographics and Pig Sty gone. The afternoon progressed ... kitchen utensils, old school desks and nativity scene vanished. At the conclusion of the day, everything that filled my Grammy and Papa's home ... the house my mom grew up in, a second home to me ... was sold and taken away.

But I can take solace in the fact that those antique collectors will never get their hands on countless games of school in the attic, ghost in the graveyard, sandbox dates, battles of Trivial Pursuit or UNO. They'll never display trips to the drug store for vanilla cream Cokes, games of house on the train tracks or the elusive white patent belt and shoes from the white elephant Christmas parties. It's good to be a Galloway.