Frogs and Pigs

I’m not entire sure how the conversation emerged, but I was in our local, friendly charity shop (did I mention we’re having a clear-out?) and the subject of dependents going off to university came up. And with it, the conversation of clearing out the stuff, after they’ve gone to university, was discussed.

Currently, I have one in this situation. My daughter. At Bristol.

Back in the charity shop, it transpired that a collection of pigs and a collection of frogs had recently been disposed of.  It seems to be a recent, current phenomenon, that parents all around the district are disposing of the remains of the previous life of the university student. Which, to my mind, is a shame.

I mentioned yesterday some of the memories that the discovery of ‘forgotten’ items evoked. And I’m sure we all have tales to tell about this one. It’s almost as if these items are a memory battery; ready to discharge their load at the right time and the right place, with the right connections.

I’ve not been a collector of anything really. I had a brief flirtation at football cards when I was younger, but nothing more serious than a half-dozen swapsies in my pocket. So I’ve not really seen the attraction.

For my late mother, it was teapots. And I always think of her when we use the large pewter one  (which we kept) at gatherings.

I think, though, there’s a sequence of events that happens with these type of collections. It all starts innocently with a few items of similarity (for the sake of argument, let’s say cuddly panda bears). Then somebody in the family might notice that one has more than three of these panda bears and thinks this is what one is ‘into’; so they get another one for the collection. One is too polite to dispose of this addition and it joins the others in the display. Then another one is added. Then another. And soon enough, there is a whole collection of similar themed artefacts that can be termed a collection. So now one is labelled as a collector, and the cycle continues.

One interesting point about this phenomenon is that the ‘collector’ can likely name who/where/when the item is associated. (To be fair, I’ve also experienced this. When putting a log on the Rayburn, I’m pretty confident I can tell you how I acquired this bole. And there is a tale to tell about each piece of wood burning.)

But there comes a time (maybe during that university transition period) when the collection is tired and not so appealing. My view is, if it is possible, to store them. In the loft. Because in twenty years’ time, they’ll be retrieved, and the memories they evoke might well be worth remembering.

Of course they might have been encouraged by the owners to dispose of these collections. Which, in this case, is fair do’s. But for me, I’d rather have a memory battery. It just might make getting older a little more bearable.