I hope you'll enjoy this reprint of my column
- Sincerely Vintage -
from the October issue of the New Century Collector. . .
I’ll admit it from the get-go, I see a therapist. Have done so for over 20 years. My kids’ pediatrician (who was the one who
convinced me it was a good idea) calls them “paid friends.” Hey, I’ll take my friends any way I can get
them. (BTW – best investment ever when
you’ve got three kids with special needs. . . .) I knew I was in trouble the day I admitted to
my paid friend that I collected string.
It made perfect sense to me. .
. but somehow it sounded pretty strange when I said it out loud to her.
I could see the look of alarm in her eyes and knew we were in for a long session.
“But. . . but. . . it’s vintage
string,” I muttered. Different kinds. And colors.
And sizes.
She wasn’t buying it.
That’s okay, I realized, many months later. I’m now at
peace with collecting string. And whisk
brooms. And drawer pulls. And hot pads, old keys, step stools, bookcases,
suitcases, and bar stools. Things with
numbers. Things with drawers. Things made of enamel. Things made of metal. Buttons, books, balls, and more buttons. LOTS of buttons. Chairs, clocks, cameras, quilts. Even paper cutters. And so on. . . and on. My house runneth over.
Now – hold the phone.
Before passing judgment, answer me this. . . what do you collect? And how many of them do you have? Has someone close to you ever suggested that
you really didn’t need yet another
one? I recently picked up another scale
to add to my collection. My sweet
husband protested before the transaction was complete, saying that it was just like the other red one I already
have. “But, the tops are different,” I pleaded.
It came home with us, making it a baker’s dozen of scales we now own,
not including the ones that are for sale.
Oops, forgot about the one on the porch.
Make that 14.
I was a Girl Scout.
I earned my “Collector” badge.
The 1963 Junior Girl Scout Handbook told
me I should collect stuff, and, because I was an obedient child, I did.
“Make
a collection of things you like. Pick up
shells from the beach or leaves on a hike.
Collect buttons or bells or many-colored rocks. Or menus or maps or puppets made from
socks. Put snapshots in an album,
arrange dolls on a shelf. Share your
hobby with others, work on it yourself.
Arrange your collection, put it on view.
Display it at a hobby show or to friends who visit you.”
Hmm, instead of rocks I wish I would’ve collected menus
from the 1960s. Those would be worth something these days.
So. . . why do we
collect? For me, as an antique dealer, I
kinda have to collect items if I am
going to have items to sell. The gravy
is that while gathering merchandise I get to keep the things I love best. It’s just that I love a LOT of things
best. Meryl Starr, an organization
expert, says, “If you’re climbing over your
collection to get into bed or if you’re ordering take-out food because your
collections leave you no counter space on which to cook a meal, that’s a
problem and you need to do something about it.” Hmm.
Obviously she just doesn’t get it.
I mean, aren’t antiques more important than cooking? Sheesh.
Here’s another thought on why we collect, this from Kim A.
Herzinger, an English professor at University of Houston-Victoria in Victoria,
Texas. He says, “Collecting is a means by which one relieves a basic sense of
incompletion brought on by unfulfilled childhood needs. It functions as a form of wish fulfillment,
which eases deep-rooted uncertainties and existential dread.” I think I like this guy. I’m relieving my incompleteness!! Need to discuss this with my therapist. . .
.
And here’s another good one from
him: “[The
collector] is experiencing the kind of sensory transcendence that we most
closely associate with religion or love.
And, like religion or love, his collection is a kind of security against
uncertainty and loss.” Aha! Now
I know why I have 38 kitchen canisters, 18 tool boxes, 24 wind-up clocks and 79
vintage metal zippers.
Or – maybe we collect just for the fun of it.
Or – maybe it’s just that I listened to my dad. He firmly believed that having inventory was critical to one’s
well-being. For him, inventory consisted
of things such as nails, legal pads, golf balls, sweaters, and wine. I just have a slightly different idea of what’s
critical to my well-being. So I’ll leave the TP inventory to my husband.
(BTW, honey, we need more. I’m
going to the estate sale. . . .)
Sincerely,
Cathie
Postscript. . . since this article was published I've acquired four more scales,
bringing my total to 18
** grin **
