When I was young, my mother frequently gave me cut glass pieces, often chipped, but still beautiful. I was afraid to use them and most of the time they sat, collecting dust and making me feel vaguely guilty for neglecting them. Somehow, I’m over it. These bowls are sitting on the radiator in the living room near the Christmas tree. So far, they seems to hold no interest for the cat or even for Aloisa. But I like sitting near them, I love the way they look, and I am amused by my image reflected in the cheap ornaments they are holding.
My mother was a collector, as were many of her sisters. They liked silver and china and glass. My mother didn’t particularly enjoy entertaining, but she liked to display her treasures. Mostly, I like to use mine, and I intend to use them even more. I’ve always loved old things, even more now that I am one. I wonder if any of my children will want them.
“Clutter in its highest and most organized form is called collecting. …”