Today’s blog post comes from my good friend author extraordinaire, Beatrice Fishback.
I have never thought of myself as a collector. In fact, I tend to toss knickknacks away or give to charity rather than clean or dust them.
But after scanning a few rooms lately, I’ve discovered that—alas—I am a collector after all. There are things I keep that mean the world to me. Things that my children gave me, like this figurine from my daughter. The girl is holding an embroidery hoop with a bee.
I also have a set of hedgehogs from my son and daughter-in-law. Our son is practical in nature, so they are also measuring cups (clever, right?).
My husband gave me this set of carved wooden children after he came home from a business trip—they reminded him of our two children and I have had them in our home for over thirty-years even though her little arm is broken.
I also collect white jugs. Don’t ask me why. There’s no other reason than I just like them.
Plus, I’m a book collector and especially love antique ones.
Finally, I love to collect friends.
Not that I want to place them on a shelf to bring down to dust periodically. It’s fun for me to meet new people and get to know others through various connections. There’s nothing quite like having another person to experience joys, laughter, pain and sorrow with. Friends are a precious collection of wonderful memories and anticipation of spending time together again.
How do you make friends? Just by being on the lookout and collecting them one by one.
Makes me wonder. How is it I turned out to be a collector after all?
Coming soon from Dana K. Ray: A Second Chance