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

How apropos

Just a few days ago I expressed my annoyance with media darlings who preach rhetoric. We're all quite capable of forming our own opinions when given true facts, and therein lies the rub. We need The Truth. 

Lack of rain can be a serious problem. So can flooding. We all get it. The earth is doing something it's done many times already and we're all to blame for it. I get it. My fault. 

As a young girl, the week of The Great H--n Fair was something the entire family looked forward to with great anticipation. My grandparents moseyed around the fairgrounds, chatted with their contemporaries, and went to the tractor show. My mother haunted the ag show, notepad and pen at the ready to jot down ideas. My father met his cronies, found a shady spot, and talked about work - or he shadowed me in case my friends weren't there. I was cut loose to meet girlfriends and hop on every ride again, again, and again until we were all dizzy. And we did this every day for a week because it took a week to see and do it all! 

Why did it take a week? Because it rained every damn day. When was the Fair? It overlapped the second week of August, sometimes beginning around the 10th, and sometimes ending around the 10th. 

When I saw the 10-day forecast this morning, my thoughts instantly went to Fair week. Rain with the threat of thunderstorms is absolutely normal for my area as we enter into mid-August. 

I suppose this is one of the reasons why I don't trust what I'm being force-fed about the weather. Our earth heats and cools. Ice ages? Had 'em. Tropical forests around the globe? Had 'em. Mass extinctions? Had 'em. It's pure hubris to believe we paltry humans have much say in any of this. 

The Lady at The Hideaway