Shot Glasses, Old Letters
That evening with The Collector left me feeling empty. I’d never met anyone who had amassed such a collection. Listen, I think we’ve all seen our fair share of piles of crap. Maybe you’ve got one you’ve been cultivating over the years, but aren’t willing to admit to. Or your neighbor has one that you consider an eyesore, which you may or may not be too shy to vocalize. Or you’ve seen the folks on reality TV who really have a problem. This wasn’t plain old crap… ok, some of it was crap, but amidst the crap were these amazingly organized and cared for collections. Things that had been carefully chosen and tenderly cared for. Cleaned. Organized. Enjoyed.
My list of collections is short: a box filled with shot glasses from junior high and high school trips, and love letters from my former partner. Why the hell I was collecting shot glasses as a tween is beyond me. What’s even more perplexing is why none of the trip chaperones thought this might be inappropriate. And the letters, I’m holding onto those until I can find a meaningful place to ceremonially burn them. Well… that’s half the truth. The whole truth is that some things are hard to let go of and words on a page hold the power of memory. Another story entirely.
My meager collections left me feeling like I was lacking tangible proof of passion. I needed to revisit my list of what sustains me. It was that and the whole Haiti thing that got me thinking about my winter plans.