Gray sweatshirt

We had the most wonderful Honeymoon. It was a three week road trip up the east coast from Florida to Maine and back. We stayed in every state along the way accept Vermont where we only ate lunch and enjoyed the greenness.

We drove our green Pathfinder loaded up with camping gear and suitcases, but we left plenty of room for what we might find as we scavenged the coast for treasures. In the end we did come home with a bench made from reclaimed wood and old theatre seats, a handful of skeleton keys which I had to have b/c they were old and elegant, 3 maple syrup catching tins from an antique barn in rural Maine, chocolate covered cranberries from a haunted Bed and Breakfast we stayed in for a few days, a corner cupboard (that doesn't actually fit in a corner b/c it has a strange angle) from an art/funky furniture store in Asheville, NC., and many more random things, but one of my best memories is conjured up each time I wear my touristy gray sweatshirt that says: "Nantucket" across the front.

Have you ever had a time where it was so ridiculously comfortable in that moment that the only thing messing up the moment was that you knew it couldn't last and that realization made it kind of painful? Nantucket was like that for me. It was like a time warp. Perfect weather in July, beach, town, art, great food. Wonderful. Christo and I rented bikes (which is hell on a cobblestone road) and we went into the town for ice cream. We sat on a bench and I just laughed at how everything was so wonderful right then. I could eat strawberry ice cream on a warm and sunny day, on a bench , in Nantucket , with the love of my life, every single day for the rest of my life and that to me would be Heaven.

The comfort of the moment did pass and we have not been able to get back there again, but I am painting this piece of my heart now. My canvas is sketched and needs paint and other junk on it, but it will get done and hang over that bench from Maine one day, right next to the wall with the key ring hanger, where the skeleton keys will be, and I will have my little honeymoon shrine and we will sit on that bench and eat ice cream from Publix and it won't feel the same, but it will still be sweet because what made Nantucket and that day so wonderful wasn't any of that stuff....it was him.

Collecting

photo by Catherine Jamieson

I have a few collections.

I collect snow globes that are tasteful, not gaudy.

I collect books- too many to count.

I collect buttons and vintage sewing "findings" such as measuring tapes, spools, old ric rac, fabric etc.

I collect cancelled stamps that have already been somewhere. They have seen a few states or countries. They have a story to tell. They have a history. Some of them date back to the early part of the 20th century. They are old and I am young.

I collect old photographs and postcards, some familiar and others strange to me.

But, my most valuable collection cannot be gathered and displayed. It cannot be framed or used in any art project. It will never be covered in dust. If a fire destroyed the contents of my entire house, the collection would not be singed. If I wanted to take my collection to an auction house, they could not offer me enough money to make it worth my time.

My most valuable collection consists of things that cannot exist without me. I must be here, or they have no curator. No one to take the edge off. No one to deal with the ugliness that some of them wear as a banner. Oh, and they have power. The power to hurt, heal, make happy, and destroy. Each little piece of my most prized collection has it's own zeitgeist. It's own frame of reference. It's own possibilities.

I have a collection...I collect memories.

Absolutely covered in...

Volkswagens.

I know you were thinking that I would say wildflowers so breathtaking that I wanted to pretend I was Maria and sing "the hills are alive" etc. You may have even thought I was going to fill in that abysmal blank with the word "books" because I read them so much. Possibly even "fabric" because I have entirely too much and it is beautiful to behold.

But that is just not the case. We were creeping down the country road and happened upon an old VW mechanics shop that looked small and had a handful of clunkers out front. My adventurous husband then says to me, "you see that little dirt road between this shop and that trailer? Well let's just see what is back there." So we take his truck down that road and see a crumbling yet very tall privacy fence that should be fired because he was failing in his attempt to keep anything private.

Before we could see much of anything but vies, a very unfriendly scowling teenager on a 4-wheeler rolled up to us at the opening of the fence and stared us down. So we attempt the friendly "hello" at which he keeps the stoic scowl firmly planted on his young face. I mean, it's not like we live in a free country or anything. This road, albeit dirt, was not private and had no posted notice. Also, what if we were the inhabitants of that dilapidated trailer next door? He would not know if we had just acquired it by some personal misfortune. So, we ignore the rude teenager and we look over that fence and that is when we first saw what true hoarding looks like.

I gasped in joy and also is sickness that someone could actually be such a VW glutton. It was almost like I was enraged at the selfishness of one person to harbour all of these beautiful bugs and buses and ghias and square backs and fastbacks. But then I was compassionate at the thought of the illness that this collector has.

I can understand in some small scale way the hold that these cars can have over someone- my husband is 27 and has owned a total of 5 in the 10 years he could even drive. We just acquired a new one on Saturday. I would say that he has a small addiction to buses. And so you can see why this would be a truly incredible sight to behold. I will go back and take pictures for your enjoyment ( and mine).