One of my most favorite things to do with my wife is go out to breakfast. To be clear, waking up is the last thing my wife or I enjoy doing. Between work commitments and a love affair with that perfect sleep that only comes after 6am, it would be more accurate to say we love to go out for breakfast food.  We enjoyed eggs and French toast and extra crispy hash browns and our usual 2 cups of coffee with hazelnut cream. But this time was different. A strange turn of events has befallen our favorite and frequent breakfast eatery: they will only provide two packages of jam. It's always a game with the jam flavors. I'm partial to blackberry, and because my wife feels the same I usually have to dig deep into what used to be a small tin bucket littered with strawberry and grape to find a hidden blackberry.  On occasion when we would come out to breakfast I could be found diving into unoccupied booths to scavenge the jam bucket for our coveted plunder.  But this time, as we gazed upon our bounty of breakfast we were blighted and bewildered by the barren board before us. Two packets, two tiny squares of processed fruit preserve to last four half slices of toast. Always an optimist I suggested this does add an element of spontaneity and surprise to our meal as today we are presented with two of the available five flavors of jam; Strawberry, Blackberry, Grape, Mixedberry, and Peach.  Today we are greeted with Strawberry and Grape. Strawberry and Grape are the most ubiquitous flavors to add to toast in the known universe.  They are also the least desired.  Why is it the stuff we find so mediocre is the stuff so easy to find? 

Well this didn't last long as before we could coat our second half of the first slice of toast with our disappointing but tolerable jam options my courageous and ever daring wife motioned to the server to inquire the availability of Blackberry jam.  Without delay our server returned with not one but two packets of Blackberry jam, and a promise that should this be insufficient, she would be delighted to bring more.  The bliss that followed can only be described as appropriate for public, but nevertheless euphoric. 

The drive home was full splendor, part by the raging hailstorm of the day, and part by our success at looking spontaneity in the face and demanding what we want. Then as fate would have it we happened upon an estate sale.  It was furiously hailing at the time, so we figured it would be a great time to try something new.  

We were greeted by a lady offering shuttle rides up the drive way. Parking was limited, and the hail made the walk a bit precarious.  In the garage sat the center of the event, with many a Christmas decoration and abundant nicknacks of all sorts.  We moved into the home where it became apparent the previous owner was elderly.  The house was very tidy. The indentations in the carpet suggested the furniture hadn't been moved in many years yet the carpet was clean. The floral print on the couch and love-seat, the crystal serving dishes and hand painted chinaware were as though the home was a time capsule.  Walking past a mirror bordered by sea shells we saw clothes that were probably purchased 30 years ago.  The off white walls, and general yellowing of most things added to the aged feel of the home. We learned that the owner had passed away, and everything was 50% off today.  Strangely, that didn't heighten our buyers delight. The estate was being sold by an estate salesman.  A lifetime of memories and belongings now have little value without the person who made those memories.  The trips and stories this hand-painted Hungarian vase could tell. What conversations were fed on these plates? What dancing did these clothes inspire? Today in the snow and hail, a lifetime of stories and memories are 50% off.

In the office we found books for sale, and joked that at our estate sale people would find piles of medicine and veterinary books.  A journal caught my wife's eye. As she flipped through it, she found no pages written in.  Standing amongst a lifetime of clothes and dishes and bed and art and furniture and decorations and lamps and frames and serving trays and books and empty shelving and bird feeders devoid of seed and with no bird to visit; she said the most profound thing, "I guess this is what regret looks like."