Catharsis for $161.25

In high school English class I was introduced to the notion of "catharsis", experiencing spiritual release through an intense emotional experience, or in the case of the Greeks, purification through tragedy. The notion seemed very grand, something that ought to involve blinding light and the parting of the clouds so that a heavenly voice could speak directly to the stunned mortals. I imagined the score would include the swelling of an angelic choir and the obligatory pipe organ deep pedal note.

Everyday life can offer a similar, if not more modest, experience when long-deferred projects come to fruition, when actual process is made. This weekend was made up a collection of tasks which when taken individually are pretty mundane. But taken as a whole, I think I might have just had a mini-catharsis without the tragic plot. The amazingly good weather motivated me to change the oil in the truck, a long overdue chore which I used to do with a regularity that would make my Dad proud. He was an automotive engineer and taught me the importance of routine and preventive maintenance for engines. As I removed the drain plug and oil filter, the wrench slipped from my hand and fell into the used oil. When something like this happened while Dad tutored me, I recall him saying, "That's exactly what I didn't want to happen." The memory made me smile.

After replacing the drain plug, installing a new filter and refilling the crankcase with oil, I topped off the brake fluid reservoir and took Roman to the p-a-r-k. The truck ran quietly and confidently, despite its 265,000 miles and 21 year-old frame. So the logical next step was to load the truck with as many crates of "stuff" destined for the swap meet as would fit.

Arriving at the Solano Drive-in about 9am, we were well-behind the regulars and hard-core swap meet crowd who setup at 6am to hawk their wares and prowl for treasure. Before we had unloaded our crates and setup our humble display, shoppers were helping themselves by looking in the truck bed, opening boxes and asking "How much?" I thought their behavior oddly bold, but then I realized this is a different community with its own norms for acceptable or customary behavior.

Interacting with and observing the humanity at the swap meet was fascinating. Generally, people were very nice, if not eccentric. One elderly gentleman made several visits to our table, declaring each time, "I'm not here to mess around!" On his final visit, he bought an imitation Persian runner, a hose spigot and a German license plate for $4. It's true what they say about "one man's junk." Interest in our table came and went in small waves of families strolling, hard-core shoppers looking for a deal and kind people who had time for conversation.

We sold over half of the stuff by volume but not by value. Most transactions were for less than $5, so it took quite awhile to amass our earnings of $161.25. After failing to sell a Lebadang lithograph I purchased in 1981 for $150, we looked it up on the Internet and found out it is worth $1,300. Another transaction, and another mini-catharsis to come.