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Going, going, gone

She's selling one life in order to start another. The '50s vintage Japanese kimono. The bisque dolls from the '20s. And that 1978 Boxing Illustrated, the one with Leon Spinks on the cover. Then off she goes.

By ERIN SULLIVAN
Published June 26, 2007

Lola the long-haired dachshund is not for sale. But most everything else belonging to Becky Jones is on eBay. She plans to travel in an RV and continue her new-found passion for diving, from the sky and into caves.
	[Times photo: James Borchuck]

ADVERTISEMENT [Times photo: James Borchuck] Everything of Becky Jones' has got to go, including this kewpie doll on her lap. The St. Petersburg woman is ditching her job and parting with her possessions.

ST. PETERSBURG - For sale on eBay: everything Becky Jones has, apart from some clothes, necessities and her elderly miniature dachshund, Lola, who will be riding shotgun in her new life.

Jones motions to an ornate, antique silver and glass jar on a nearby table in her bungalow.

"That pickle jar owns me," she says, pointing with the emphasis of a witness identifying a culprit in court. "I wanted to take it with me but then I thought, 'What the hell are you going to do with a Victorian pickle jar in an RV?' "

She picks it up, caresses it, puts it down.

"It's GOT to go."

She is willowy with high cheekbones and a short shock of white hair, which she has a habit of pulling on with her thumb and forefinger. Her voice is still thick with Texas, where she grew up, even though she hasn't lived there for about 20 years.

Her eyes survey the room.

"I'm letting go of the past," she says. Then she laughs, bolstering herself.

"No fear!"

- - -

Nearly all her life, Jones has compulsively collected the odd and unusual. Some things are beautiful, such as a porcelain encased French clock built in 1870 that still works. Other things, such as a 1950s crabby-looking black poodle sculpture that doubles as a pin cushion, might fall into the so-ugly-it's-cute category. Or just ugly.

Scouring flea markets has been a comfort and constant to Jones, through her two failed marriages, abuse, depression, her parents' deaths, her son's suicide.

These things might look like junk. The 3-D Jesus paintings. The bleeding heart wall hanging. A lamp with a base of dancing Scotty dogs. A huge chunk of Russian amber mounted on bone. A Civil War snuff box.

But Jones sees their history, their stories. She sees how much someone loved them. So she rescued them.

About a year ago, she started to feel suffocated. By the mountains of 1950s paper she bought intending to make scrapbooks. By 65 pairs of shoes. By 26 place settings of silver "Everything down to the bouillon spoons" that she wasn't going to use, because she didn't entertain like she used to.

These things owned her.

So on New Year's Day, at age 58, she resolved to live without fear.

She is selling all she can on her eBay store, Jonesantiques (myworld.ebay.com/jonesantiques). What doesn't sell there will go in her estate sale. She'll sell her house and its contents, down to the glass bathroom trash bin with frogs clutching its sides, their eyes peeping as you toss your Kleenex. She won't tell her customers she's not dead.

With the profits, Jones, a grandmother of three, will buy a Ford F350 diesel truck with four-wheel drive, duallies and a gun rack.

To this monster machine, she will hitch a fifth-wheel RV hauler -- a 38-foot apartment on wheels. She will quit her high-stress job in the tech industry and set off this winter, when she's 59 1/2 and can take out her 401(k) without penalty.

She's planning a huge retirement party.

"Hula girls, definitely," she says. "And I'm thinking commemorative T-shirts."

She envisions tents, drinks, reggae, hip-hop. She loves the Black Eyed Peas. She stands and busts into a rendition of My Humps, coffee mug in hand.

What you gon' do with all that junk?

All that junk inside your trunk?

She is not sure where she and Lola are headed. Canada, Alaska, Mexico, for starters.

Jones is not waiting until she hits the road to begin her "no fear" philosophy. This year she went cave diving in Mexico. She went sky diving for the first time -- then dated the British instructor strapped "tightly" to her back.

"He's 20 years younger than me," she says, with a throaty, naughty laugh. Before this, she had only a few dates in the past 17 years, since her second divorce.

Jones says her surviving child, 34-year-old son Cameron, does not approve -- of his mom's young suitor or her plan to drive willy-nilly all over the country. But she hopes, with time, he'll understand.

- - -

The countdown began a few weeks ago, when Jones began liquidating. She roamed her house and picked out things she didn't think would hurt much to let go.

She started with an old box of tools. She can't remember when or why she bought it. But she's been tripping over it for years.

She listed the tools on eBay.

She wants to make sure all of her beloved things get good homes. She has been their keeper for years. Now it is time to pass them on.

"It's sad, when someone dies, and people go through all their things and discard them. They don't know what meant the most to the person, so they might just throw away something that was important. Somehow, things we love absorb something of us."

She also is giving things to family members -- now, so she can see them enjoy them.

"It's time."

Now the sales are getting easier.

Already sold are the 1950s alligator thermometer and ashtray, the pink flamingo salt shakers, the Jackalope candy dish. Someone also fell for that mean-looking black poodle pin cushion. Gone is that chunk of Russian amber. A 1920 German toy steam engine, in working order. Some original circus posters. Some red Scotty dog barrettes, made in Japan.

Jones has outlined her mission on her eBay store, as well as her MySpace page.

Her customers have rallied around her:

"Good luck and very jealous!"

"Way to go! That's my dream.

"Can you come by and pick me up?"

Jones has been so good about disguising just how much stuff she has, packing her closets, blending things into the decor of her house, that when she steps back to take it all in, it's too overwhelming. All that she's giving up for this adventure.

She's cutting down drastically on her clothes -- she loves sequins and shoes and purses.

"Where will I wear my gorgeous off-white sweater with the fur collar?" she says. "Especially when I have . . . um . . . four sweaters with fur collars."

She has a ton of quality cookware -- cast iron and Le Creuset and heavy antique pottery -- that has to go, which will be replaced with some "ugly Corning Corelle, because it's glass, it doesn't break and it's lightweight."

"I am going totally for functional, not for beauty," she says. "The beauty is going to be outside and in what I'm going to experience.

"I will be looking at sunsets, not paintings."

With each sale, there are some heart pangs. But as she ships them off, she feels lighter. There is something cleansing in paring life to its essentials: a reliable truck, food, shelter, a map, a passport, a good dog.

And one ugly carved turquoise cat sculpture Jones bought in Nova Scotia years ago.

But that's it, she says. Honest.

Erin Sullivan can be reached at (813) 909-4609 or esullivan@sptimes.com.

[Last modified June 26, 2007, 08:10:37]