I was reading the article below on wfmt.com & it made me think of my amazing dad.   He has two connections to that article.   First, one of my recent great adventures with him was going to see a rehearsal with Ricardo Muti at Symphony Center.    Watching my dad conducting along with the maestro is priceless to watch.  Being of a certain age, having limited mobility with his walker - neither of these get in the way of my dad's plans to go see and hear and learn everything everyday.   

The other Aida connection with my dad has to do with supers.   My dad is super.  I think everyone who knows me knows I think my dad is super but I mean he was a super.    He taught me and my brother and sister that word.   A super is an extra hired to be in the background on an opera stage.   These are typically the crowds or the townsfolk or the armies that are needed during a performance.   They don't need to sing; they just need to be in costume and able to follow direction.   Well somehow when my dad was in high school he and his friend Eric (or maybe it was his brother, my uncle Ed) decided to make some extra money by becoming Lyric Opera of Chicago supers.   The performance?   Aida.   Their role?   Sword carriers in the army.   Sharing the stage with them during the all important triumphal march?   Live horses, donkeys and other animals.  

Not a problem, right?

Well....

Turns out the Lyric Opera's costume department didn't have enough shoes in his size so they sent him out on stage in his black socks....behind those live animals.

Well, as kids this story amused us to no end.   Aida is a stunning opera and I cry at the end of it every time but about midway through it each time I hear the triumphal march I crack up thinking about my dad in his socks following those animals.

https://www.wfmt.com/2019/06/21/finding-the-details-in-grand-opera-riccardo-muti-cso-and-cso-chorus-present-verdis-aida/

So here's a secret of mine - I love to browse estate sale websites.   I enjoy going to them too but honestly, browsing them on my phone sometimes is just as fun.

Over the years I have developed two emotional moral turmoils during this ritual.

The first is that I tend to think very brief but negative thoughts about the kids of the homeowners.   Why don't the kids want any of this stuff ?!?!   I get it if you don't want your mom and dad's collection of unmatched Tupperware lids but what about your grandmother's dishes, your mom's special hat, your dad's recliner?    Didn't you love your parents?  It just seems to me that the more full the house, the more the kids are bad kids.     The one caveat to this though is if the house is at Hoarder Level.   Which brings us to my second moral turmoil.

The second moral turmoil is that the more packed, more hoarder'esque the photos, the more excited I get going through them.   To me it becomes a giant Where's Waldo.   I am hunting slowing through the photos for the lost ark or at least a forgotten diamond or Picasso.    I have yet to find the ark, diamond or Picasso but that doesn't mean tomorrow I won't.   I better keep looking.    So the second turmoil comes from the guilt I feel for the joy I feel for essentially what is probably a stranger's mental illness.  Very schadenfreude.   

Is is moral to derive pleasure from family disfunction or an individual's neurosis?   If I go to the sale itself and buy something is that at least helping the person?

Mmmm....not sure.  Hold on while I go check to see what's for sale this weekend.