“On a good day, even writing can feel like a form of collecting—of gathering words, images, and ideas and arranging them in an order that feels right.”

~ Amanda Petrusich

Thanks for visiting, and welcome to my blog.

If it isn’t already obvious from the title, my plan is to curate a little online museum here — of my growing collection of trinkets and objects, memories, observations, opinions and stories.

This is a creative writing project for me: a space for me to exercise some different writing muscles than I do in my “day job”. Originally, I planned to only write about tangible things I seem to be collecting, consciously or unconsciously, but it has evolved into a place to also write about insights, ideas and interests I’ve collected along the way.

If you know me, you may be surprised to read that I am admitting to even having any collections. Or, maybe not. It might be one of those traits you don’t see in yourself, but everyone around you has noted it for years.

Either way, I have long teased my mother and her late mother for their vast collections of “things”, that to my young eye seemed to do nothing more than collect dust and taunt me with their untouchability behind glass china cabinet doors or on the highest shelves well out of my reach.

For instance, my Nana collected decorative wall plates to the point of using up every available inch of her kitchen walls and some of the living room too. She had so many crystal figurines, a dining room table was designated for their display. Her doll collection, and the giant oak cabinet that housed them, is notorious in our circle of family and friends.

For the longest time, I resisted this habit in my own adult life: I went out of my way to sell or donate any unused stuff, I avoided buying ‘knick-knacks’ of any kind, and aside from my life-long love of shoes, you’d never hear me say I “collected” anything.

I was ruthless sometimes about giving things away, even if they held meaning. I didn’t want any clutter, any dusty objects, any collections.

If you are anywhere near middle-age, you might be able to guess what happened next. I got married, I had kids, I got older. And with it came more and more stuff, plus sweeping moments of nostalgia and a growing realization that the apple really doesn’t fall far from the tree.

So, it turns out I do collect things. A lot of things. It hasn’t (yet) taken the shape of my Nana’s collections (there aren’t 25 well-dressed and coiffed porcelain dolls lined up anywhere in my house), but I sure do have a few items I just can’t part with. Each of them hold deep and wonderful memories for me — of home, friends and family, trips I’ve taken, or even just good meals I’ve made and enjoyed. They are just “things” of course, but they help tell the story of my life.

So let’s get started, and see where the writing will take us.

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