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November 30, 2001 - Collecting Dust & Memories by Maria Harden
Welcome to 2TheHeart's Funny Friday, to start your weekend off with a chuckle!
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COLLECTING DUST AND MEMORIES
by Maria Harden
When my job ended several months ago, I regretted having to let my cleaning lady go. I rationalized that there was no sense in paying her to come twice a month, when I now had the time to do my own cleaning. My husband, bless his heart, suggested, "Why not just have her come in once a month?" I thought that was a grand idea, since he knows how much I detest housework, especially dusting. So, now the cleaning lady comes on the second Tuesday of every month, and the rest of the time, I manage fine, knowing she will soon be there to save my sanity.
I have come to abhor knickknacks and collectibles that serve no
purpose other than collecting dust. I used to do the eyeball roll at people who reveled in their collections of butterflies, angels, salt
shakers, and the like. I swore I would never be a collector. I was
going to have a house clear of clutter, and maintenance free. No
dusting for this woman. No siree!
So much for the best laid plans of mice and men. Or women, in this
case. Firstly, my mother-in-law passed away, and I ended up being the beneficiary of three of her collections. One was elephants. Two dozen elephants, no less, of all sizes and colors. Elephants made of china, copper, pewter and glass; elephants that I felt compelled to put on display out of respect to her memory. A family member chastised me because the elephants were not facing east. Who knew? Apparently it is good luck to have them facing east, otherwise, beware the dire consequences. The funny thing was that once I figured which way was east, and positioned the elephants accordingly, we had to look at their posteriors. Not a pretty sight.
Then there were the teacups, also inherited. They were all bone china, in dainty floral and gold leaf patterns, made with exquisite
craftsmanship. Every cup and saucer was different. I put them away in a cabinet and there they remain, unused and largely forgotten. I prefer to use my own mugs and dinnerware, for fear of breaking these lovely teacups. Perhaps one day.
The last collection ended up being a several collector spoons,
gathered from trips all over the world. I reluctantly hung up the spoon racks for display, thinking how tacky they looked. Now
I had to dust elephants, AND spoons. When friends saw the spoons, they were delighted I now had a collection, and brought me souvenir spoons from their travels. With great reluctance, I had to buy another spoon rack. The spoons were starting to overtake the house, so I moved them into the family room. Out of sight, out of mind.
Then, unbelievably, I inherited yet another spoon collection from my husband's sweet grandmother. Her spoons numbered over one hundred, and came with several matching spoon racks. My husband felt obligated to hang these racks alongside the others. I never felt they were really mine, even though I inherited them. I have never even visited most of the countries that the spoons came from. I repeatedly denied being a spoon collector, but only got looks of disbelief. I wondered if I should consider therapy.
Eventually, I decided if you can't beat 'em, you might as well join
'em. I started browsing flea markets and antique stores for unusual spoons. I experienced the thrill of the hunt when I found an unusual spoon made of wood, and another made of an Arabian coin. When I found a very old, tiny salt spoon, an old-fashioned, long, iced-tea spoon, and a pair of filigreed jam spoons, I thought it was almost newsworthy enough to broadcast on the 6:00 news. Now the collection was becoming more mine. Never mind that the spoons were cloning faster than fleas on a mangy mutt. I started to appreciate them and was curious what stories could have been behind them.
One Christmas, my Dad decided I had too many spoon racks cluttering up the walls, so he made me one huge spoon rack to accommodate the two hundred plus spoons that I now had. The many, smaller spoon racks came down and the new, large spoon rack went up. It was quite a conversation piece, if nothing else. Now that the spoons were displayed in one rack instead of ten, they looked quite charming. I was as proud of the spoons as I was of the rack holding them, although I still hated cleaning them.
Today, there are spaces left for three more spoons, and once they are filled, that's IT. No more spoons; no more collections.
That reminds me of my sunflower kitchen. What started out as a simple wallpaper border and a couple of tea towels, has escalated to more sunflowers than you will ever see in a farmer's field. I have sunflower canisters, a tea pot, oven mitts, pot holders, toaster cover, element covers, pictures, picture frames, magnets, table cloths, place mats, rugs, ornaments, candles, wreaths, curtains, napkins, a clock, salt and pepper shakers, wind chimes, boxes, and much, much more. Most of these items were given to me, once everyone saw that my kitchen finally had a theme. Me, a collector? Well, as a woman, I AM entitled to change my mind.
When you come to visit, we can sit in my comfortable, sunflower
kitchen. I will serve tea in the dainty, porcelain teacups, and
reminisce about my dear mother-in-law who was kind enough to leave them to me. We can stir our tea with a couple of the collector spoons, and remember the generosity of my husband's loving grandmother. We can chat companionably, and admire the elephants' posteriors.
Maria Harden (c) 2001
mharden@escape.ca
Maria is continually surprised at what transpires when she sits down at the computer. Some stories, like this one, almost write
themselves. Read her other stories in the 2TheHeart archives.
http://www.2theheart.com/archives/
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This Week's Funny Quotes:
"For years, my husband and I advocated separate vacations, but the kids kept finding us." - Erma Bombeck
"When you are dissatisfied and would like to go back to youth, think of algebra." - Gene Yasenak
"Video games, not parents, are to blame for many of these teenage crimes. I'm certain it was Frogger that taught my son to jaywalk." - John Bumbry
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