Cobwebs in the Attic
“Every passion borders on the chaotic, but the collector’s passion borders on the chaos of memories,” Walter Benjamin.
We’re amid an early spring. The robins have returned in large numbers. I heard Briggs and Stratton lawn mowers revving up over the weekend, and I saw a hummingbird take a quick dive where the feeder was and then fly off in confusion. All these signs of spring lead to something none of us want to tackle, especially since we were barely snuggled under quilts and warming our hands by the fireplace. Besides, it is still February, isn’t it?
We’ve surveyed our garage several times during winter solstice, promising to give it a good cleaning once the weather warmed up. Rather than its original purpose of collecting glorious sunshine, our sunroom became a perfect place to collect odds and ends that really needed to be tossed out.
Books are piled on top of each other, waiting for their special place on the shelves. Cabinets in the kitchen and laundry room are begging to be organized, sorted, and tossed. But all these things in and around our home are things we love. We don’t feel we can part with them. Besides collecting our own things, we are blessed with things from both sets of parents, most of which are still wrapped in newspapers and stored wherever we can find a place.
Stuff. How’d we get so much? George Carlin, one of our favorite comedians, said it perfectly.
“A house is just a place to keep your stuff while you go out and get more stuff.” He was right, wasn’t he? So, how do we overcome this great need of human nature to collect stuff? I’m asking because I haven’t found the cure yet.
The first great items of stuff we struggle to part with are those things obtained through our parents’ estates. For some reason, we ended up with things our siblings didn’t want or didn’t have room for the stuff themselves. The stuff has been packed in our garage, some from as early as 1995. Every year, I dust off a box, representing those cobwebs in my attic. If I get as far as really sorting and tossing, I find myself sitting on the floor of the garage, or in the house, taking a trip down memory lane.
Yesterday, I discovered a little plastic baggie filled with miscellaneous hardware. Just about the time I nearly threw it out, I realized there were some tiny treasures amongst the odd assortment of nails. There were three medals, like tie tacks, that had belonged to my father. One was a pin for his honorable discharge from the Merchant Marines, another with two crossed rifles, and a third with an eagle on it, which we were uncertain of what it may have represented.
I’ve been a collector for more years than I wish to count. I collect books, primarily old books. It’s like a disease that calls my name each time the library has a book sale, or if we are in a thrift shop. It’s a gravitational pull to books. It is my passion, partly because I am an avid and voracious reader, and partly because I just love books. It’s the writer in me, I suppose. They have very little significance to my family, however, I have told them not to just toss the old books before checking on them, because there are a few first edition collectibles in there.
My other passion is collecting teddy bears. I find them irresistible. As a child, I was too busy climbing trees, riding go-carts, and learning how to shoot a 22 rifle with my father. I’ve told a few friends I wasn’t a girlygirl growing up. But things change as we age. Several years ago, I found my first collectible teddy. He sat on a sofa at an estate sale and winked at me. Before I knew it, he jumped in our car and was on his way to a new home where he would be loved unconditionally, even in his poor condition. Since that early day, I’ve amassed quite a menagerie of cute, loveable, and irresistible teddies, all who have captured my heart and soul. I have found small treasures in each of them, discovering on the internet that their value went way beyond making me smile.
Being passionate about something such as gathering things can lead to the greater issue at hand. You begin to look at the real estate ads in the paper, searching for a home that will be bigger with more storage to hold more things. As George Carlin said, “we have too much stuff.” He says that when thieves break in, they only go for the good stuff. They are not interested in your “fourth grade arithmetic papers.” It’s all just stuff, isn’t it? But it’s our stuff, minus the boxes and shelves filled with our parent’s stuff that we couldn’t bear to part with.
What’s a person to do? I also live with a collector, and between the two of us we have too much stuff. A practical solution would be to assist in the cleanout of the other spouse’s stuff. However, that could lead to a trip to the courthouse filing for legal separation papers and then we’d need to find a place for those extra important papers. But think of the time we’d save, and the things we’d get rid of, but for the chaos of memories!
And, so … we’re still at the dilemma of spring cleaning, and once again, how much stuff are we’re willing to part with?
The weather has warmed up beautifully. The azaleas and other blooms are popping out and mowers are buzzing. It’s time to keep the promises we made during those cold winter days and attempt once more to get rid of some of our stuff. ----- You may reach Terri at P O Box 28, or at btlacher@sbcglobal.net