We all collect things over time. Some of us collect more than others and some of us purge over time more than others. Some collect things of value while some collect things of junk.
My father is a collector and so am I. But we collect in different ways. I like to collect things and store them away in a neat, orderly, organized fashion. If I want to see, or work with, or go through my collection, I bring it out and then put it up when I'm done.
My father, on the other hand, likes to have his collections out and about. But he collects things that are far more suitable for display. My collection of breath mints wouldn't exactly make for a stunning display on the shelves of out living room. His collections of magic posters, miniature cameras, antique microscopes and historical nautical instruments are perfect for sharing visually with visitors and guests.
My father has collected for all of my life and I'm accustomed to coming home to see new and interesting things around the house. He has a knack for putting all manner of unrelated things together in one room, somehow making it work and look like it was meant to be just that way. I don't have that skill.
My parents are kind enough to display all the things I've given them over time. Just tonight I noticed the crystal cherries from Italy, the concrete puzzle from New Zealand, the rocks attached to some driftwood from my trip to OOPSLA in Austin and the multi-layered hand-blown vase from Murano.
So, if they've been displaying my things for over twenty years, there must be things far older in their personal historical time line around their house. Tonight, I discovered one. My son was finishing his bath and reached for something on the counter in my parent's bathroom. My father said, "no no, that's delicate. I've had that since I was a boy." It was a ceramic piece with three dogs: one orange, one black and one white. I had seen it for years, but I didn't know it was that old or, more specifically, what importance it had in my father's life.
It could have been something from a yard sale he liked several years ago, but it was over seventy years old and has been with my father all this time. It changed my feelings entirely about that little piece of ceramic, just because I knew how it's history was personally intertwined with my father.
It's interesting how things become important to us because of longevity or proximity or any other number of reasons. I wonder how many other things are around my parent's house that I don't know are important to them?
The Big Boy Update: Passive and aggressive. He has reached the age of television zoning. If something is on that is even remotely interesting to him (including an adult talk show, go figure on that one) he will just sit there an stare at the screen. But beware, too much passive time results in extra aggressive behavior when he runs around later.
The Tiny Girl Chronicles: Baby bow boot camp, round two. Her hair needs to be put up in some way to keep it out of her eyes. She likes to take the bows or bands out though, when you're not looking. Mostly, she just wants to put the bands around her wrist. So it's back to cracking down on her to make sure she leaves them be. Also, she looks very cute with pig tails.
Fitness Update; I pulled a wagon with two children down the hill to the center of town here in the mountains for the parade this afternoon. It was a bit of a workout to keep the wagon under control going down and a lot of work to pull it back up the hill. My legs felt it both ways.
Someone Once Said: Never help a child with a task at which he feels he can succeed.
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