Now when I look at all of my collections of things I wonder if I have a problem....
But then I defend myself. That display of old cameras, most of which were picked up for cheap at yard sales? My grandfather's camera rests among them, and every time I look at his camera it brings me back. I can see him in his work clothes, carefully aiming it at me, with a smile on his face, and being temporarily blinded when the big bulb flashed. And every once in a while he would even agree to be in a picture.
That collection of china in the hutch? Yes, there are stoneware creamers I found for less than a dollar, and purchased as I liked their shape. But they are nestled amid my great grandma's dishes, and when I see them I think of her in her dresses (always dresses), and the smell of her kitchen when I crossed the threshold of her little house on the river.
(That's George Port on the left, my dad's maternal grandfather.)
I am proud to be a hoarder, colletor, historian, whatever you want to call it. Sure, I could weed out some of this stuff, perhaps I will have a treasure sale in my yard this summer. But everything tied to a wonderful memory will be staying put.
I have a card posted on my fridge that says "Old things connect us to our past, and for this reason alone, are worth saving." Indeed.