It all began when I found a bell in a souvenir shop when I was a young teen. The little brass bell had such a pretty tone. I bought it for a dollar or so, and decided that I would collect bells.
People began to give me little bells from interesting places. It seemed like such a grown-up thing to do. Mother had a small collection of Hummel figurines, which she displayed with pride in a cabinet. Each perfect little figure had a story to tell, which gave Mom great joy.
My bells became quite useful in the dorm when a prank was in order. I had a string of small cowbells that could be used as an effective alarm, especially when I was a Resident Advisor in the dorm or a counselor at camp. Later, as a mom of teenagers, I used to tie the string to different doors so that we would awaken if our kids tried to sneak in or out.
In the 1970s I knew a pastor’s wife who had a strawberry motif in her kitchen. People decided she must love strawberries, and soon everything she owned had strawberries on it. One time she confided in me that she didn’t even like strawberries, but she didn’t want to hurt people’s feelings.
I had the same thing happen when my dad gave me some Moose placemats as a joke. Although I love seeing moose in the wild, before long I had moose everything, from socks and sleepwear to serving dishes and statuettes. Eventually I declared a moose moratorium, ending the era of the Ungulate.
A couple years ago I took a trip with an older friend to her small hometown, and we stopped in to visit a high school chum. Almost everything she owned had multiples. She had small groupings on every available surface and on each wall in every room of a large two story house. The woman collected collections!
It was all quite clean and cheery, even though figurines seemed to be waiting for a chance to burst into song like a watching chorus. Somehow she managed to walk the fine line between collecting and hoarding. She knew the history of each object, and everything was proudly and neatly displayed.
I visited with her elderly husband while the old friends caught up in the kitchen. He was very sick, but it was quite a sight to see this old man on a couch surrounded by shelves of dolls. He managed a little wink when he told me that at least he knew that she had no intention of collecting husbands. After all, they had been married for 60 years, and he was her only one-and-only.
Collecting can be a great hobby. But it’s important to know when to stop, and it’s time to stop when the collection owns you, or when you just can’t bear another strawberry or moose.
