My Shelf

December 2022 

It’s winter, and my wife and I like to use the forced indoor time that comes with that dreadful season to declutter our home. Honestly, this is mainly an undertaking that is driven, and executed by, my wife.  Throughout our lives together we have picked up a lot of kitsch. And having children we have collected a lot of stuff of theirs as well. But I must admit, I am the problem, at least in terms of wanting to keep stuff. I’m not quite a hoarder, but I do tend to find sentimental reasons to hold on to things.  Often for no apparent reason. 

I struggle to discard old tee shirts, golf hats, books, wall hangings, dishware, keychains, and paraphernalia of all types.  I’m never quite sure why, other than that I attach emotions and sentimental value to these strange objects. This makes me a less than desirable partner in the decluttering process, as my wife will attest.  I tend to want to keep, while she is quick to throw stuff out, or send it off to Goodwill.  Something that is very difficult for me.  So today I ponder my emotional connection to collecting “things”.  What drives people to do this and what purpose does it serve? 

I have a wall in my office at home that is nothing but shelves. It was designed that way on purpose. Before we remodeled our home, the office was a formal dining room. An outmoded feature to say the least. Now it’s a fantastic office. One that has a wall full of shelves that displays my collection of memorabilia. A vast set of dust gathering items from various stages of my life. Each with some small or large meaning to me. This shelf is the epicenter of my collecting habit.

Not just anything gets the honor of earning a position on my shelf, it takes something pretty special to be put on display. Something that tugs at my heart or makes me smile with a memory. Special enough so that I can tell you what each item is, and why it’s meaningful.  And there are a lot of items on my shelves! Generally, once you make it to my shelf you are there forever.  However, I have been known to remove a few things lately.  It’s getting rather cluttered, even for me!

Of course, the shelves have plenty of photos of my wife, my kids and grandson. There are a few of my parents at varying stages of their lives.  I love them all.  And they help make my shelf easy to look at.  The other stuff is much more personalized for me.  There are awards I have won throughout my career.  Corporate keepsakes from the companies I worked for.  There are bottles of wine and wine glasses I have collected from bars and wineries. Knickknackery from the many places I have visited.  Small gifts from special people that I have crossed paths with in my life.

Some of the real special things are things I have inherited from my family.  A piece of shrapnel my dad smuggled home from WWII.  The knitted gloves my mother wore when she got married. My grandmother’s thimble she used as she wiled away the hours sewing endlessly.  Her bonnet from her childhood when she was being raised as a Mennonite.  A WWII ration book still filled with ration coupons that were my grandfathers.  There is also a native American arrowhead I found as a child.  Sticks, stones, sand and coral from mountains, rivers, beaches, and deserts I have hiked in and around.  Each item, I can pick up and feel the memories pour forth.  But why is this?

As I think about it, each of these things individually, as well as the whole collection itself, has an enduring power. One that provides me with a sense of comfort and nostalgia. These small bits and pieces supply a history lesson.  Each triggering memories that take me back to specific moments in time.  Almost like hearing those old songs on the radio. These things are equally transportational.  Grounding me in the past without bogging me down there.

These objects also help me express my personality.  Being some of the things that helped shape both me and my life. Essentially, extensions of my identity.  They allow me to relive my childhood and connect me with my roots. So they are my mechanism for preserving some of the history of my life and family. Physical representations that help me remember things I always want to remember.  And they sit right behind me every day as I type away.  They are back there now watching over me.

Of course, I just glanced backward to remind myself of the power of these keepsakes.  No one singular thing caught my attention.  But the overall feeling of reminiscence was still there.  Of all the captured memories. Oh, and the dust!  It’s time for me to do the annual deep clean.  That’s one task I never really mind doing.  One by one, as each soiled item gets thoroughly cleaned, my soul gets reinfused with the memories of a life.  Actually, a few lives.  It’s amazing how they all found their way to my dusty shelf.  Remarkable stories indeed. Worth remembering. Despite the dust.