Collecting

"The" season is upon us, and being a list-maker, at the top of that page of "To-Dos" is to remove the gourds from the mantel to make room for the Dickens Village.  Once the Village is in place, I start to think like a real Christmas Person.

I am concerned with all the "stuff" in our lives.  I was looking at the pine cupboard in the dining room, thinking about removing pieces of the ironstone creamer collection to make room for Christmas decorating.  We received a lovely gift from Dennis and it would be perfect in a corner of a cupboard shelf.  And the replaced creamers?  Or the chocolate pots?  Boxed away, of course, in the company of so many other boxes.

I have been a collector since I could remember.  My first love was small boxes, where I kept my childhood treasures.  Teapots followed— this was a direct influence of my grandmother, the Irish link of Mother's family.  My aunt Nancy Cile had Christmas dishes, and I wanted that special dining experience for my own family (which I managed, over a period of years of collecting).  And books?  My mother was the book worm who encouraged us from an early age to have our own personal libraries of favorites . . .

I wonder now if collecting is becoming a thing of the past, a relic from a time when homes were expected to graciously accommodate the various interests and collections of its inhabitants, when these habits could spill over without the need to be Better-Homes-and-Gardens neat at all times.  The perfectly-in-place house always makes me suspect that a very dull group of people live there, and when I am in these spic-and-span homes, I find myself looking for the collection that gives identity to an individual, some small clue to the interests of the family in the house.  Today's open floor plans don't lend themselves to corners where children's crayons and books are stored or wall space for displaying drawings, photographs or a shelf of rare antique books.  Where in the world would we put an old egg carton that cradled a little rock collection?

Which makes me think twice about the pine cupboard and the creamers.  This house is smaller than the one we left in Knoxville, less wall space, not enough book cases or closets.  There are boxes and boxes of pictures (many of my own making) that I have no place to hang, so I have not hung anything yet!  Is it possible that, at the end of things, a collector should not downsize, but UPsize?  And how do you take care of the UPsized home as you age?  A dear sister-in-law one time told me, wistfully, that her ideal home was a large concrete-floored room with a drain in the center of it . . .

What a list of questions without answers this is!  How do I solve this very knotty problem of re-forming the habits of a lifetime?  Is it even possible, at this stage, to aspire to change?  Maybe I should not go antiquing any more, not be lured by the gentle, classic shapes of creamers and white china.  *Sigh*  Glance away from beautiful tea pots.  *Double Sigh*  Never again ask to see the leather-bound books in the glass cases . . . Use the fragile chocolate pots until they are all broken and the problem of preserving them is solved by simple attrition—

Aaaaaaaaaaaauuuuuuuuuuuggggggggghhhhhhhhhh!!!!! (to quote Snoopy.)

Is there a support group "out there" for collectors wishing to go Cold Turkey?

Item two on today's list:  Bring the Dickens Village from the basement closet and become a Christmas Person.

Item three on today's list:  Think about everything else Tomorrow.  After all, tomorrow is . . . . (thank you, Scarlett).