Collections

I’m not a pack rat. I like to say I have “collections.” Recently, I collected my favorite cozy socks so that when they inevitably go out of fashion, I’ll have no worry. My feet will be warm forever! On a shelf in my closet rests a small bag filled with my favorite lipstick-that did get discontinued! I’m so glad I have my collection!

I don’t just collect small things. My great-grandmother’s tea cart stands across the room from me, serving as my coffee bar. The morning sun is shining in on the small oak kitchen table where my family sat together for 26 years. In the windowsill beside it sits a geode I found tucked at the back of my grandpa’s bookshelf, the last remnant of him after my uncle cleared their home out for sale. It’s always been near me.

Some of my collections are for creating. Like some adorable stickers from the 90’s that are prime for scrapbooking and pique my interest just as much as they did when I was a child. There’s a collection of authentic vintage fabric scraps sitting on my sewing table right now. Some are the leftovers from colorful aprons and homemade dresses. Others are printed flour sacks from the 1930’s. My great-aunt, Vera, gave them to me one day. 

“These were my mother’s. I want you to have them because I know you’re the one who will do something with them.” she said with resolve. 

Indeed I am. I’m currently making a quilt from them. I’m going to give it to my mom for Mother’s Day so that she can snuggle up with her grandma’s love. I even found the “Shower to Shower” powder that Grandma H used every day. With a light dusting, the quilt will bring back that comforting memory too. 

I’m what they call an old soul. Throughout my life, I’ve had more close friends in their 80’s than of my own age. There’s Marvin the retired farmer, Jeanne the wise artist. There was Bill the WWII Navy veteran, Yuvonne the church pianist, Dave who could’ve been a great comedian. With my gravitational pull toward this salt-of-the-earth generation comes more loss. I keep my collection of memories with them written in a notebook. I don’t ever want to forget how special they were.

You see, collections can be so much more than clutter. I don’t want the things I love to go away, so in my own way, I keep them, like that family kitchen table. I give them new life, like Grandma H’s scraps. I honor them, like the stories of my old friends. To me, they’re collections of all the love I’ve encountered in my 32 years of living. I imagine as I grow older, my collections will only grow more meaningful to me –and larger!