There Is Nothing So Expensive As An Object Your Sister the Ex-Mayor's Wife Doesn't Want

I imagine that somewhere, like the mythical unicorn, there exist two sisters who can divvy up their Mom's estate without keeping a running total accounting for equalness down to the very penny. Somewhere. But not in Backroads.

We started on the dining room Friday. Barely. Just the perimeter. Sis found an old picnic basket. And by old picnic basket, I mean a family heirloom. She flipped it open. Shook it back and forth. Declared that the lid didn't close right. Found a broken wood strip ringing the top of the basket. "Why is everything Mom had busted? Why did she save stuff like this?"

"The Depression! Mom knew what it was like to go without. Remember that story of when she was a kid, riding in the back seat of the car with her brothers? And one of them threw her shoe out the window? Her dad pulled over and they looked for two hours for that shoe. Never found it. So she had to go with one shoe until he could get her another pair at the company store after payday. Times were tough. That right there is Grandma's picnic basket. Hick and I have one at home. We had to buy it at the estate auction when Grandma died. THAT'S why Mom kept that picnic basket. It was her mother's."

I knew I tipped my hand by telling Sis that. I could have scooped up that basket, no questions asked, because Sis thought it was junk. Actually, I'm sure there would have been a lot of questions asked, once she saw that I would take it. Still, I have one of Grandma's picnic baskets. I wanted to make sure Sis treated it right. Who knows where Grandma got it from? Maybe it belonged to her people.

From inside that picnic basket, Sis had extracted a yellow Dollar Store bag. "What's this?" She opened the bag. It was a set of four dark green metal plates and four dark green metal cups. Camping style dishes. "Dollar Store! A dollar apiece. Still got the tags on them. See? Why would she put these in there?"

"Well, she must have planned on going camping. Remember, they had the slide-in. Then Dad got sick. I'm sure time got away from her. Maybe she planned on bringing them when you guys invited her down to the campground."

SIS: "Do you want them?"

VAL: "Don't you want them for your camper?"

SIS: "I have taken SO much stuff for my camper. I don't have room."

VAL: "Okay. I think they're cute. I'll take them. Maybe Genius might want them. He drinks tea. It stains all our cups. I could keep them for when he's home at Christmas, if he doesn't want them."

We went on unearthing treasures. It came time to pack up, and I picked up the bag to put in one of my boxes. "Look, Pony! Aren't they cute? Four cups and four plates for eight dollars!"

SIS: "Um. They're actually quite a bit more." Sis gave me the stinkeye. Like I was a raccoon raiding her garbage can.

VAL: "What do you mean? They're a dollar apiece! You said so! The tags say so!"

SIS: "Well, the cups. But the plates were two for ten dollars."

VAL: "Uh uh. They're a dollar."

SIS: "Look at the bottom. They had a sticker that said two for ten dollars."

PONY: "Mom. You can see right there. It's a dollar sticker. Just like the cups."

VAL: "SEE!"

SIS: "No. I saw it on there."

VAL: "Take them out of the bag, Pony."

PONY: "See, Aunt Sis? A dollar. Right there."

SIS: "But look at that one. Two for ten."

PONY: "No. That's the product code number, Aunt Sis. It's just a white sticker with 210."

SIS: "Huh. Are you sure?"

PONY: "LOOK! Grandma even left the receipt in here! They were a dollar each. It rang up eight times at a dollar."

SIS: "Huh. Okay. What was the date on that?"

PONY: "Nineteen-ninety-eight."

VAL: "The year you were born, Pony. The year Grandpa died. I knew there was some reason she left them there. She never had a chance to use them."

SIS: "Yeah. Take them. I don't have anywhere to put them."

Some days, I think Sis would argue with me over the value of a penny.