(Carole Newell, affectionately known as the Social Director of Bolton Landing, has served on the Bolton Chamber of Commerce Board of Directors, and is still serving on the Bolton Free Library Board of Trustees. Carole started the Bolton Writing Group, which meets at the Lake George Land Conservancy every other Monday. This is an open group, all are welcome. The next meeting is February 11 at 1 pm. This was Carole’s latest offering for the writing group, and I thought it was so funny I asked her if she’d use it to be the Guest Blogger this month.) It’s no secret that I have an auction addiction and have had for thirty plus years. My “shopping” has taken me to many auction houses, old farms, and fund raisers in both Nantucket and Wilmington, North Carolina. One of the latest auctions was in Glens Falls at the HR Tyrer Gallery. My seat has been my personal one for twelve or so years: front row, end.
I have an auction friend from Warrensburg who used to have an antique shop until she became ill with emphysema. She is an encyclopedia of antique knowledge. This particular sale yielded me, for a price of $37.50, two wonderful wooden boxes. The prettiest one I gave to my brother (that’s another story) and the other one I planned to give to a friend. But at the last minute I decided to give it to my son-in-law, who is my favorite “child”. He’s in front of the two biological kids I have, and my daughter-in-law. He is just the kindest, sweetest guy and so tolerant of his wife’s sensitivities. You got to love this guy.
Anyway, I polished the box, which had a starburst grain on the top. It was about eight inches square and made of cherry. My antique friend said so.
Just before Christmas I had shopped at Price Chopper and discovered the biggest apples I have ever seen at $2.99 a pound…Honey Crisp. I remembered that my daughter-in-law (she’s #4) mentioned loving Honey Crisp apples. Anyway, I bought three of the biggest globes, and because of the premium price decided one would be part of the Christmas gift for my #1 child. I carefully wrapped the apple in tissue paper and laid it in the polished box…just right! The box was tucked inside a gift bag, then placed in a box with the other goodies which were sentenced for shipment to Nashville.
Christmas night I called my daughter to talk about the whole blown-up overdone Christmas thing, and asked about #1’s box.
She was aghast. “Mom, did you read the yellowed note taped to the inside cover of the box?”
“No,” I replied. Actually I was so excited by my find, the polished look of the box and that exceedingly expensive apple that I did not read the yellowed strips of paper pasted to the cover.
“Well,” she exclaimed, “that box was for Mrs. Clarence Wilkinson’s ashes! That’s right, Mom, ashes! The date on the memoriam was October 10, 1927. Didn’t you know what you were sending to us?”
Obviously not! Although truthfully, even if I had read the note, I would have carefully unstuck it and sent the box anyway. I then tenuously asked my #3 where the box was at that moment, to which she replied, “It’s on a shelf in the den with Lucy’s ashes.” Lucy is the sixteen year old Dalmatian rescue recently relegated to doggie heaven and the den shelf.
“She’s in a great box,” I said. I didn’t dare ask about the apple! 
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