COLLECTIONS
I love the diversity
of human interests. It never fails to warm my heart when I see how many
different things can make people happy.
Some people are passionate about sports. Some are into entertainment, arts, inventions or gardens. And some people are collectors. Many people are collectors.
As a nomad, I have found that I am not really in that category. I have disbursed of all of my belongings a couple of times in my life, which I found very freeing. Even living with a settled home base now and enjoying the conveniences of a great little cottage, I am very detached to most of what I own.
If a fire was coming through and I had time to grab things in a dash, the only things I would truly want would be the quilt that my mother made me, the photo of me and my grandmother that sits here on my desk, my guitar (replaceable), and my laptop (also replaceable).
Given more time, I would grab other things too no doubt, more photos, my top ten CDs, my top ten books, and a box of diaries. And perhaps some other sensible things, toothbrush, practical shoes, a change of clothes, and some fruit for the trip.
But I guess I am a collector of sorts as I do have this box of diaries. They are a random collection of waffling thoughts accumulated over about twenty years of both turmoil and happiness. Sometimes I read back on them. I still find some parts of them hilarious. Other times I can't help but cry remembering the pain I was in at that time. It is good to reminded of how far I have come in myself. Mostly though I just enjoy reading for the memories.
Also included in this box of diaries, is a collection of small diaries, appointment diaries. This means that I can look back on any day over the last twenty odd years, pretty much, there may be a little fudging here and there when I lost track of days whilst travelling, and see what I was doing. We all have our own eccentricities I suppose. I shall put this one down to my genes descending from two very organised people.
People collect all sorts of things. It is pretty interesting. Coins, comics, postcards, keyrings, sports or film memorabilia, photography, books, heritage items, marbles, pens, dolls, trains, rocks, spoons, license plates, stamps, gems, erasers, yo yos and of course, music. (Anyone who has read High Fidelity by Nick Hornby knows how obsessive a record collector's mind can be. It is a great book, by the way).
I collected keyrings when I was a little girl. I ended up with about six hundred of them in the end. The collection started rather unconsciously, Mum brought one back for me from a trip in Europe. I bought another simply because I liked it. Then someone else bought me one of a roller skate, as I was a mad skater for years from when I was about seven. And that was it, three keyrings, a collection had begun. I sold it years later when I was downsizing on everything.
One of my friends collects hair. Not many people who know her know of this collection. It is a secret stash. She keeps cuts of about an inch or so of her favourite people's hair in little bags, inside a big bag, inside the linen cupboard, hidden at the back, for some reason. I was asked to contribute a sample of my hair years ago and on learning more about the collection and its personal value to her, I realised it was an honour to be asked. The hair sample she cut from me shares a space with departed friends and relatives, as well as a few people still living.
I love hearing of people's tastes and celebrating in the mixture of human interests. It is fascinating what makes some people tick.
The thing I collect in my life now is good quality people and I am blessed with a small but valuable and beautiful collection.
The other thing I collect is stories. But it is a collection shared, stories told, stories heard, stories shared. It is a collection that brings me much pleasure.
And today I am collecting contentment, amongst other things.
May your own collection, whatever it is, bring you much enjoyment.
Whether it is a private collection or one you share with others, may it bring you much, much pleasure.
Some people are passionate about sports. Some are into entertainment, arts, inventions or gardens. And some people are collectors. Many people are collectors.
As a nomad, I have found that I am not really in that category. I have disbursed of all of my belongings a couple of times in my life, which I found very freeing. Even living with a settled home base now and enjoying the conveniences of a great little cottage, I am very detached to most of what I own.
If a fire was coming through and I had time to grab things in a dash, the only things I would truly want would be the quilt that my mother made me, the photo of me and my grandmother that sits here on my desk, my guitar (replaceable), and my laptop (also replaceable).
Given more time, I would grab other things too no doubt, more photos, my top ten CDs, my top ten books, and a box of diaries. And perhaps some other sensible things, toothbrush, practical shoes, a change of clothes, and some fruit for the trip.
But I guess I am a collector of sorts as I do have this box of diaries. They are a random collection of waffling thoughts accumulated over about twenty years of both turmoil and happiness. Sometimes I read back on them. I still find some parts of them hilarious. Other times I can't help but cry remembering the pain I was in at that time. It is good to reminded of how far I have come in myself. Mostly though I just enjoy reading for the memories.
Also included in this box of diaries, is a collection of small diaries, appointment diaries. This means that I can look back on any day over the last twenty odd years, pretty much, there may be a little fudging here and there when I lost track of days whilst travelling, and see what I was doing. We all have our own eccentricities I suppose. I shall put this one down to my genes descending from two very organised people.
People collect all sorts of things. It is pretty interesting. Coins, comics, postcards, keyrings, sports or film memorabilia, photography, books, heritage items, marbles, pens, dolls, trains, rocks, spoons, license plates, stamps, gems, erasers, yo yos and of course, music. (Anyone who has read High Fidelity by Nick Hornby knows how obsessive a record collector's mind can be. It is a great book, by the way).
I collected keyrings when I was a little girl. I ended up with about six hundred of them in the end. The collection started rather unconsciously, Mum brought one back for me from a trip in Europe. I bought another simply because I liked it. Then someone else bought me one of a roller skate, as I was a mad skater for years from when I was about seven. And that was it, three keyrings, a collection had begun. I sold it years later when I was downsizing on everything.
One of my friends collects hair. Not many people who know her know of this collection. It is a secret stash. She keeps cuts of about an inch or so of her favourite people's hair in little bags, inside a big bag, inside the linen cupboard, hidden at the back, for some reason. I was asked to contribute a sample of my hair years ago and on learning more about the collection and its personal value to her, I realised it was an honour to be asked. The hair sample she cut from me shares a space with departed friends and relatives, as well as a few people still living.
I love hearing of people's tastes and celebrating in the mixture of human interests. It is fascinating what makes some people tick.
The thing I collect in my life now is good quality people and I am blessed with a small but valuable and beautiful collection.
The other thing I collect is stories. But it is a collection shared, stories told, stories heard, stories shared. It is a collection that brings me much pleasure.
And today I am collecting contentment, amongst other things.
May your own collection, whatever it is, bring you much enjoyment.
Whether it is a private collection or one you share with others, may it bring you much, much pleasure.
