By Jim Nolan
Buffalo, NY – You know how families break apart over inheritance fights? We're fully expecting that to happen in our family, only the fight won't be over who gets what, it'll be over who doesn't get what. You see, over their 50 years of marriage, my parents have collected some of the oddest, least desirable possessions imaginable. We kids don't want 'em. Even e-Bay doesn't want 'em.
First, let me start out by saying that my parents are in perfect health. My father swears more than ever on the golf course, which could be a sign of an increasingly limited vocabulary, but more probably he simply has been watching a lot of HBO. No, according to the actuarial tables Mom and Dad have decades of missing putts ahead of them. And yet they often bring up the dispersment of their earthly goods.
Lately Mother's been wondering who wants the painting of her Great Uncle Elias. Mom inherited this painting herself, but only after her Swedish brother and sister passed on it. They even paid the overseas postage on the huge, life-size painting, just so they'd never have to see it again. It's not out of the question that the Swedish government might have actually aided them, in an effort to improve the climate for the arts there.
Had Uncle Elias lived today, it's unlikely that he would have been chosen to pose for the Abercrombie and Fitch catalog. He was rather heavy set, with a huge walrus mustache, and seemed to take the depressing Swedish playwright August Strindberg as his style icon.
Jim: He's not the most handsome man in the world, Mom.
Mom: Well, actually, I think he is good looking, he's just very imposing.
His portrait could scare small children. Surely this is a painting that would be better suited in my brother Tom's home, as Tom can be somewhat moody himself, and I'm pretty sure he screens my phone calls.
Jim: Mom, don't you think it would look nice in Tom's apartment?
Mom: I think it would, because he has high ceilings.
Jim: I think it would look great in there and I think he really wants it. He hasn't said as much but...
Mom: Yeah, well, I certainly can ask him.
Jim: Well, I don't know if you have to ask him. I think you just maybe send it out there.
Jim: Hey, Tom. I want to talk to you about the painting for Uncle Elias.
Tom: I don't want that painting. I don't want that painting in my house.
Jim: Well, I think it's a little late because Mom's about ready to put it in the mail. It's a beautiful Swedish painting, Tom.
Tom: I think it's a little bit frightening.
Jim: You know what else? Mom and Dad want you to have the monkeypod table.
Dad keeps dropping hints that the table he made out of Hawaiian monkeypod wood is available to whoever wants it. So far, no takers. Dad made this table from a kit when he was stationed in Honolulu in his Navy days. It was Dad's first and last foray into furniture building-at least he knew when to quit. The table, which has for 45 years tottered precariously on three legs, is not likely to be discovered by experts as a na ve but superb example of mid-20th century Hawaiian handicraft, though Dad assures us it will.
Jim: So Dad, that table that you made, it's so beautiful, do you think one day it might be worth a lot of money?
Dad: Oh I'm sure it will be. I'm thinking of taking it to the Antique Roadshow if they ever come to Buffalo.
I intend to learn from my parents' example and not burden my children with the bric-a-brac their mother and I have accumulated. But, if I forget, I'm sure in time they'll come to appreciate my authoritative collection of Blue Oyster Cult LPs.
I can hear it now on Antiques Roadshow: "Do you have any idea how much your father's Blue Oyster Cult albums are worth?"
"No, we have no clue."
"If I were to put these up for auction right now, I'd conservatively estimate they'd raise over 18 million dollars."
"Incredible! But what about our grandfather's Hawaiian monkeypod table?"
"Depends. What's firewood selling for these days?"
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Commentator Jim Nolan is a New York City advertising executive who listens to WBFO on his trips back home.