Are you a Collector?

Are you a collector? 

I am.

I’m not an art collector, stamp collector, or rare artifact collector. I collect things — groups of things and things I like — that evoke memories or hold special meaning. According to Merriam-Webster Dictionary, a ‘Collection’ is an accumulation of objects gathered for study, comparison, or exhibition, or as a hobby or personal interest. Or, as my Mom would say, it’s the hunt, the mission to find the perfect thing to add to a collection. 

On my recent annual sisters' trip, I asked everyone what they collected. Two of my sisters were not collectors at all. I was surprised, since many of us had perfected the art and assumed it was a genetic trait. 

Our mom collected many things over the years. She loved candlesticks and would often group them together on a mantle or buffet. Many were brass, and then she moved on to glass. They always looked stunning, standing tall like soldiers with colorful tapered candles. 

She was constantly on the lookout for German dishes. She had a fondness for small, creamy white tea cups with gold lettering. One said, ‘Think of Me,’ and another, ‘From a Friend.’ These fragile and ornate cups were a reminder of her German heritage. 

Mom frequented thrift and antique stores and would slam on the brakes for a garage sale. She scoured these haunts for jars of buttons, marbles, and anything else that caught her eye. She was as creative as she was thrifty and would make beautiful themed button bouquets, showcasing them in antique bud vases. Her button pillows and bouquets are displayed in all of our homes.  

She also had a thing for bunnies, all kinds of bunnies. Most were treasured antiques made of soft ivory bisque. She loved interesting rabbits, not the ones you would find in a card shop. She displayed them on various surfaces and shelves. One of her favorites was of a momma bunny pushing a buggy with ten baby bunnies. It was perfect and a great find for a mother of ten. 

Several months after my father died, there was a fire in the apartment two floors above my mom’s. All of her belongings were either smoky or damp and had to be professionally cleaned and stored by the insurance company. When the items were returned, there was one box that summed up my mom's collections. In big black letters, it said "Bunnies Galore.” 

In my twenties, I too became a collector. It started with children’s tea sets. They had to be old and have all the lids, matching cups, and saucers, as well as cream and sugar. Since I was always broke, I sought out bargains at flea markets and garage sales. My love of tea sets started when I was about five, and I had a tea party for one at a cottage my family rented one summer. I am almost sure the rusty tin set was there when we arrived, as I do not remember having one at home. I sat on a nearby rock and poured and drank tea to my heart's content. And so it began...

Later, like my mom, I accumulated a collection of bunnies, candlesticks, and loads of dishes. I had a love of interesting dishware and stemmed glasses. I moved on to small creamers and pitchers, along with an array of blue plates, which I handsomely displayed on my dining room wall. 

Remembering the vintage painted glass Christmas ornaments from my childhood, I started collecting Waterford ornaments. When they stopped making them in Ireland, I decided to stop collecting. I found solace in a new passion for candlewick vintage glassware. 

I digress…back to my sister’s. One said her obsession is with candles; otherwise, she is not much of a collector. Several of my sisters were into Dickens and Snow Villages, which were popular in the late 1970s and throughout the 1980s. These delightful houses, churches, and buildings create a village to be displayed primarily during the holidays. Another sister has a charming Santa collection and a home filled with art featuring chickens and lambs. 

But my youngest sister takes the cake —platters, to be exact, of which she has numerous. Where to start? Her vintage rhinestone clocks are displayed in a lovely armoire in her guest bedroom. They sparkle when the sun hits them just right, reminding me of another time and place. In addition to clocks, she has a collection of Madam Alexander dolls, vintage jewelry, milk glass, candlewick, and tablecloths reminiscent of the 1950s. Her Ironstone dishes are a lovely shade of pink, perfect for spring events. She has a basement filled with racks and racks of dishes and tablescapes. Our mother’s enthusiasm for collecting obviously ran the deepest with her youngest daughter. 

There must be a more profound reason why some of us are collectors and others are not. I don’t remember my mom collecting when we were growing up; the desire — and possibly the obsession — showed up much later, when she had more time and pocket money. 

I am at that stage of life where if I bring something into the house, something else has to go. Purging is the name of the game, and I am sorry to say my collecting days are pretty much over. That is, unless my local antique shop gets in a new piece of candlewick, in which case I will be making a quick trip under the guise of “just running to Target for a few things.”

And yet, there is a wonderful sense of satisfaction when I visit an antique mall, thrift store, or garage sale and stumble upon a lovely Limoges plate or a small creamer from an old hotel that has long since closed. It’s like finding hidden treasure, a simple pleasure that reminds me of my mom.

Bit by bit, that’s all she wrote…