I just read a news item that was published back in June, that I somehow missed at the time, concerning a Sotheby’s auction of about 300 personal items belonging to the late Paul Newman and his wife, Joanne Woodward, now 93 and sadly in the final stages of Alzheimer’s disease. They were one of Hollywood’s great power couples in a time before that descriptor had even been imagined. I’m not at all sure why their daughters chose to do this while their mother is still alive; it may have been Ms. Woodward’s wish. But they said that the hardest items to part with were not the most valuable in terms of price, but the oddball collection of fun, quirky things with the greatest sentimental value, like a photocopy of former President Nixon’s enemies list featuring Mr. Newman, and a long tin bench shaped like a pig wearing aviator goggles.

And I started thinking of what an auction of my most prized possessions would look like. Obviously, a prestigious firm such as Sotheby’s wouldn’t be interested — I’m not famous enough to warrant the attention that a pair of beloved actors would draw, wealthy enough to have acquired the sorts of things that would bring in the big bucks, or imaginative enough to own a tin pig. But on the premise that one person’s trash is another person’s treasure, it might be worth thinking about finding some local auctioneer to take a look at my lifetime of accumulated stuff. Let’s see now — we’ve got . . .

– A few items that, if my children aren’t interested in keeping, might actually bring in a bit of cash: an RC Gorman lithograph of “La Rosa”; a Lalique crystal “Leaf Bowl”; a gold watch; a full set of Faberge china; and some antique crystal pieces from Hungary and Czechoslovakia, etc. But on the fun side . . .

– A half dozen or so “Matryoshka” dolls from Russia — those cute nesting dolls that open up to reveal ever smaller ones until you wonder how they even managed to paint the littlest one. I have seen some magnificent hand-made ones that sell for hundreds, even thousands, of dollars. These aren’t those, but they’re fun — one is of Mikhail Gorbachev and his predecessors; and the biggest one is of Boris Yeltsin (and pretty much the same predecessors), but this one wearing a big furry Russian military hat.

– Two sweatshirts received as Christmas gifts from family members who obviously know me well: one reading, “It’s what I do, I read, and I know things”; and the other, “I am silently correcting your grammar.” (Don’t laugh; I read that a few years ago Russell Crowe’s leather jock strap sold for $7,000. Surely my sweats are worth something.)

– My elementary school (8th grade) yearbook. A true classic — you should see the hair styles!

– A tall, cylindrical drinking glass (with straw) depicting TV’s Golden Girls: Sophia, Dorothy, Rose and Blanche, all deceased now. It was my favorite TV sitcom; I see myself as Sophia, the smart-mouthed matriarch.

– A copper statuette of Kokopelli, the mischievous Native American fertility deity. You may want to pass that one up if you’re not planning on enlarging your family.

– A telogreika — an amazingly warm jacket made of cotton, beautifully quilted, embroidered, and hand-sewn by little old Russian ladies, mostly worn (in the old days, at least) by the women who were employed to sweep the snow from the sidewalks of Moscow.

– A few personally autographed books from a variety of individuals: the late Secretary of Defense Elliot Richardson; the late Professor Viktor Mozolin of the USSR Academy of Sciences; and the late Ion Pacepa, former two-star general in the Securitate, the secret police of the Socialist Republic of Romania, under then-dictator Nicolae Ceausescu. Are you sensing a pattern here? All deceased. They should be worth something.

– Every book ever written about Aldrich Ames, the CIA officer who spied for the Soviet/Russian government for nine years, from 1985 to 1994. An incredible story, and one that figures marginally in some of my earlier blog posts. They were research.

– In fact, a whole bunch of Russian stuff — more books (lots more), pictures, artifacts, and even a few old rubles that weren’t supposed to have left the country but somehow got jammed into the pocket of my jeans back in 1988. Hmm . . . I wonder how that happened.

– Several three-ring binders containing print-outs of my blog postings, that I hope will go to someone who read them online and liked them.

– A nearly complete set of leather-bound, gold-embossed “Great Books of the Western World.” I bought them more than 50 years ago when they were trendy, and never got around to reading them, so they are in brand-new condition. I assume the purchaser won’t be reading them either, but they’ll look impressive on their book shelves, as they do on mine.

– Not for sale, but available for your viewing appreciation, a large, extremely heavy urn of pink Himalayan salt. Be careful, though, as it contains the ashes of my late sister . . . thoughtfully enclosed in a Ziploc baggie by a mortician with a strong preference for tidiness. It’s been six years, and I’m still having a hard time letting her go.

– And finally, my pride and joy: the Soviet government-issue portrait of old Vladimir Lenin himself, illegally sold to me by a Russian government official, and (also illegally) smuggled out of Moscow in my suitcase in 1993. Although actually, that’s promised to a dear friend who loves the story behind it; I just wanted to include it here because I enjoy telling people about it. Sorry about that.

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Now that I look at the list, my “treasures” are all things that are meaningful to me, like the albums bursting with photographs of family, friends, and places I’ve traveled — but hardly of value to anyone else. I guess only the heirs of the rich and famous actually get to have auctions.

But here’s a thought: Since I plan eventually to be cremated (but please make sure I’m dead first), maybe some of the more flammable items could go in with me. I’ll have to check to see whether that’s legal. As for the rest, I leave it to my children to deal with all of it. I had to do it for my mother, and later for my sister. My kids are next.

And on that cheery note, I am, at least for the time being . . .

Brendochka
7/29/23

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