The weight of belongings

In my younger days, I collected reindeer, stags to be exact. It's peculiar because I did not know when I started that the stag holds a prominent place in my paternal family's coat of arms. That coat of arms was granted to the family by one of the Popes back in the 1500s. Only those born with the proper last name may use and display the coat of arms, per the terms that pope set forth. Sorry to all my male first cousins - you're out! 

Everyone was under the rule of some pope in those days but it's 2023. If my cousins want to claim and use the coat of arms, I sure don't care. Their mothers could have used it. 

My stag collection is pretty extensive. Family and friends found out I was collecting and the herd grew every Christmas season until I actually had to put a stop to it. I loved getting new pieces, but I ran out of room for them. 

Storing them became a multi-level problem. Some of them were fragile and antlers and legs started to fall off. Some had shiny, sparkly silver finishes that wore off giving them the appearance of mange. The herd aged poorly. 

This year, as with previous years, I got the storage bin down from the attic, made the necessary repairs, and set them about the great room. The Christmasy things have long been packed up for the year, but being that the herd is seasonal and not just for Christmas, it remained out. Today was the day to put them back in the attic. But today was different. 

Today I grew a spine and culled the herd. Those with missing parts have been discarded. The ones with damage to the finish that can no longer be disguised were also discarded. I thought I would be sad but I find I don't feel glad or sad, or much of anything else. 

What I suppose was my sentimentality is slowly falling to the wayside. Things seem to matter less and less unless they have a practical function. I don't have the time or energy for useless things, and that includes anything I have to dust on a regular basis. 

Don't get me wrong. I'm not dancing naked in the backyard and shouting, "I'm free! I'm free!" Material possessions have a place. But after cleaning out my mother's house when she had to go into a care facility, I realized her belongings did not define her. It was an awakening of sorts that neither do my possessions define me. 

Most of my belongings will one day fall victim to time. Either I will discard them, pass the heirlooms on, disburse them through my will, or they will end up in the landfill. 

It's strange that this truth doesn't weigh me down. But then the truth rarely does. 

The Lady of the Hideaway

Holly Tree Manor, The Hideaway, aging, truth, material possessions, time passages, generations, rural living, country lifestyle, heirlooms. stags, belongings