Estate Sale Near Me in Scarsdale NY: Westchester Dad's Guide to Finding Vintage Items, Antiques, and Bargains in Recently Deceased Home

Disclaimer: I am a dad living in Westchester, New York. The names of all people, but not all places, have been changed to protect the innocent and me from the glares of my neighbors who are definitely not reading this blog.

I wondered how long they'd been dead before they decide to sell her scarves. The estate sale, the far more depressing sibling to the garage sale or tag sale is my nightmares come to life. People walking through artifacts of the past. Things you never expected to be shown to the public are there. Things like an unused copy of Muzzy (Je suis la jeune fille. Je suis maligne) or the extensive stencil collection that was hidden in the attic. Or, for me, the scarves that smell like moth balls, all of them hanging in the center of the room off a rack near the winter coats. 

This particular estate sale is packed. People have traveled from far and wide to see if they can find a record player (yes), a clock radio (yes), or plates with the face of the woman who died in her bed only a week ago (surprisingly, yes). I don't feel good about moseying around seeing if this is any art for the family room or the garage or the attic because I'll never hang the art, since I don't have a level to ensure the pictures are put up straight. Maybe I can find a level. 

As I move into a room pictures of flowers and ghosts holding flowers, I wonder if there is more people here because we're in Scarsdale, New York.  A woman and what I decide must be her daughter walk into the room. We exchange smiles, and I felt weird about that because I don't know those people, and all they know about me is I'm in the home of someone who has just passed away looking to buy something on the cheap. 

"We're looking for coats," the woman says. 

I nod. "Cool. I'm with my wife," I respond, trying to give of an air of superiority. I'm not here for myself, not on my own accord, I've been dragged to this graveyard against my will. I don't have a want here other than to leave.  

The woman and the daughter leave the room, and I'm in the room alone. In the closet, I see a stack of VHS tapes. They have labels. Family Reunion 1990. Seder 1992. Makayla's 5th Birthday. I wonder how much these cost. 

There was a woman sitting in the outdoor chairs smoking a cigarette. Was that Makayla? She looked unhappy enough for her to be part of this family, to have lost someone recently and watch vultures rifle through her mother's home. Maybe it was just someone smoking though. I looked at more of the tapes. There are weddings and summer trips and time spent in Cape Cod and time spent in Paris. I want to put them into a bag and take them out. I'm worse than everyone else here. 

"Those aren't for sale," a voice says. I look up. There's the woman. Makayla. She's in the process of lightening up another cigarette. "Going to digitize those, once I learn how to do that." 

"There's probably someone you can take it to. Online or something." She nods. "I wasn't looking at those anyway. I'm here with my wife."  That's not enough for Makayla, or the person I presume is Makayla having no evidence of that to back it up. The pictures of the family, all those have been removed, too depressing I suppose. I'm just guessing. Just giving someone a story to make this activity less cold and callous.

"There's nothing you like here?" she asks. She sounds almost offended. Are my memories not good enough for you? I have to think quick. Scarves? Stencils? I have no idea what to do. 

I pick up the full, untouched box set of Muzzy. 

"How much is this?" She eyes the merchandise. She's never seen it before. Perhaps it was supposed to be a gift for her semester abroad that never got to her. Maybe her mother was supposed to learn french after he father passed away. I don't know. I just wanted to stay home. I didn't want any part of this. 

"One dollar," she says. "Never seen that thing before in my life." I breathe easy. I feel much better about this now. I look into my wallet. No cash. 

"Do you take Zelle?"