My
office has shelves filled with novelties and curiosities and memorabilia
and treasures.
Most
of it, I suspect, will not survive to another’s hands. The importance
is mine, and not necessarily yours. When my days of displaying
them are done, they could find their way to an online sale or
the circular file as easily as anyone else’s home.
Sure,
there are many things that you likely would expect to find. I
have copies of my books proudly displayed. There are several keepsakes
from travels, and I know the ones from Disney are ones you might
predict.
There
are also many that you would guess are there, at least by general
category if not by actual detail. Travel? I mentioned travel.
It’s more than Disney. Of course there are items from many places
that I have been during the course of my life.
Over
there is a Byrne Dairy glass bottle. I could return it for the
deposit. Instead, I love the chocolate milk… best in the world
comes from the Byrne Dairy glass bottles. It has significance
to me. Across the room is a Wegman’s Lost Kid Tag. Anyone that
is devoted to the Great New York State Fair will nod with no need
to ask.
Chip
and Dale make a couple of appearances, though I’m not going to
share the reasons why here and now. Nor will I go deeply down
the road discussing Tinker Bell, Harley Quinn, Figment and Scooby-Doo.
(That said, the multiple Mouse Ears probably need no explaining.)
Funny
thing is, it all makes sense to me. While a few of the items generate
a bit of wonder as to why I would place them beside some of the
most precious memories and artifacts of my life, they never fail
to remind me of something. There are no what-in-the-world items
on display.
Years
ago, tragedy struck. It’s one of the reasons I take these things
so seriously.
On
a trip to Orlando, I had returned with a figurine for my grandmother.
It was Mickey, sitting at a desk, reminiscent of Norman Rockwell’s
self-portrait. Mickey was drawing Walt. When my grandmother passed
away, it joined my collection. One day, the young boys were playing
with Lady and a tennis ball in the apartment, and, I think you
can figure out the rest.
I
do not have any horrible memories of that loss. In fact, Justin
wrote me a cherished apology letter. And, a few years after, Terry
and I purchased a framed print of Mickey and Walt and the same
concept. So, in ways, I’m covered. And as long as I remember,
it all still exists, it all still means something, and the memory
continues.
(Still…
that topper from our wedding cake is something I would rather
make sure stayed with my collection. It’s something I’d prefer
not to replace.)
In
one of the rooms of our house, Terry and I display a collection
of animals. Statues and figures and knickknacks. When we started
it, we came up with a simple rule for them: They couldn’t be something
that one would consider ordinary. That shouldn’t be read as looking
for amazingly exotic or distinctive. Many items aren’t outrageously
unusual. But they all have a meaning for us, and we can look at
them and quickly arrive at a time, place and reason for their
presence in the assembled works.
The
end result though is reflective of the shelves in the office.
They belong to Terry and I. They are our treasures. You probably
have yours. When gazing around the rooms of our house, we smile.
And while there are places where you might smile as well, we didn’t
design the arrangements based on whether or not you would understand.
I’d
like to think you do something similar. And I hope that there
are moments when you can just gaze in a direction and smile. Because
those are the things that turn walls into a home.