"Get rid of" what a phrase! Does part-with sound better? Or maybe simply sell or give away.
My daughters don't want my treasures: one lives in Israel and the other in a tiny condo with her family.
Neither one wants the huge task of disposing of art and antiques when I die. Nor does my husband, Brian. So, being well into theothersideofseventy, the responsibility seems to be mine.
My collection of objet d'art is as varied as I am complex.
Porcelain, carvings, paintings and some wonderful folk art collected when I had an antique store in Vancouver.
I have an exceptional steel-beaded purse purchased in Paris when I was a college student. There is a tiny lipstick stain on the lining so I used this treasure at least once!
Each object has a story from my life.
The vintage shadow puppets remind me of traveling to Bali with my dear friend, Sheila. And of trapping a rat who had been "visiting" our room at night to eat the soap.
Crystal champagne glasses remind me of Pierre, a friend who died of AIDS many, many years ago. He wanted there to be a case of champagne when we celebrated his life.
My folk art collection began when I had an antique store on South Granville Street and when my business partner Nora and I travelled together on buying trips.
It reminds me of our craziness when we travelled to Armagn in Ireland in the midst of fierce battles between the North and South. The hotel in which we stayed was bombed soon after we made a hasty retreat two days after arriving.
There is the tiny antique buddha that my sister gave me for a wedding present. She had thought it was the god of fertility, although we discovered later that it was rather the symbol of wealth!
These objects bring life stories to mind. They are anchors. When they are gone will the intimate reflections go with them?
I believe that the stories, and especially the people, reside deep in my cells. Parting with the objects doesn't erase that
Writing this, I feel a sense of relief.
