Do you have any?

I’m of two minds about collections.  On the one hand, I think if you don’t have one going, you should be assigned one.  Possibly, you should be assigned one at birth for the better buying of presents.  It is so much easier, when those birthdays, Christmases, Hanukkahs, etc. roll around for your relatives to be able to pick up something to add to your collection.

On the other hand, collections can be a bit of a problem.  Maybe other people don’t have this issue, but there may be a borderline hoarder in me.  Because, you know, one Reader’s Digest is a magazine you haven’t read yet.  Three are the beginning of a collection.  And then what?

Actually, I do all right disposing of magazines after one brief struggle in my teens when I had somehow amassed an inordinate number of TV Guides.  I understand, though, that National Geographic has caused some people severe pangs.

Some of my collections may eventually become digital.  Books and music are–with varying degrees of time and expense–convertible to a more space-saving format.  Some, however, must remain physical presences in my house.  And therein lies the problem.

Space!

Fortunately, my new house could have been tailor-made to house my glass menagerie.  I have so many windows with wide sills and sunshine.  We never thought about it when we were thinking of buying, but it has turned out to be perfect for the glass.

The music boxes…that’s a bit of a problem.  I don’t have any rare or expensive music boxes, but I have enough of them that I can’t just give them away.  Besides, I like music boxes.  There are not a lot of moments, however, when it occurs to me to wind one up and let it play.  Mostly, it occurs to me when I’m dusting them.  Music box dusting, around here, creates quite a cacophony.

I was fine with the books, the records, the glass animals and the music boxes.  But now, I seem to have a clown collection, and I don’t even like clowns.  (As figurines, I mean.  I have several friends who actually are clowns.  Graduates of Ringling Bros. Clown College, no less.  I like them fine.)

I now have four clowns:

One is made of glass.  You can see how that happened.

One is a music box.  You can see how that happened.

Two of them are recent acquisitions–mementos of a beloved aunt whose children and grandchildren have a clown phobia. (Coulrophobia, it’s called.  I bet you didn’t know that.)

Anyway, I am happy to have these keepsakes to remind me of my aunt, but you can see my problem, right?

A couple of clowns are just things you have.  Four are a collection, and you’re stuck with them forever.  So, I hereby issue an addendum to the Collection Rule.  I only have a collection when I declare I have a collection.  If anybody gives me any more clowns, I’m giving them away.