The word "trinket" is a noun, I'm reliably informed,
and covers a whole host of things from small ornaments to
little items of jewellery.
|A momento of my first meeting with my daughter in law|
Dr Suze - a little chair made from a champagne cork cradle.
Generally speaking these objects have little or no monetary
value but nearly always carry some deep, intrinsic link
with our past. They're little reminders of someone or
something that we simply can't bear to part with.
That's probably why the chest of drawers was invented if
mine is anything to go by as it's stuffed with the bloody
things, each with their own story to tell.
Some people like to make their way down Memory Lane
via old photos which is perhaps the least hazardous route
to take but that's not for me. I'm usually far too busy
trying to avoid injury from falling bits and pieces I've
collected over the years that leap out of cupboards at me
or trying not to break anything in an attempt to gain
access to my books.
Such is the lot of the hoarder, the collector of small,
emotionally charged objects, the magpies amongst us
of which I am one. I think of myself as a closet Victorian
not because I try to hide from others my attachment to
small bits and bobs - au contraire - just simply because
they're all in the closet.
|The wooden dog with two tails (both now broken)|
who lives in the stone with a hole in the conservatory.
The Victorians invented "souvenirs" and have a lot to answer for!
They had wonderful words for them like knick-knack,
bauble, gewgaw, gimcrack. They even created cabinets
especially to house all their curios. How dedicated is that?
|A hairey ring if you'll pardon the expression.|
But where they really excelled in their passion for personal
reminders was the momento mori, or mourning jewellery,
so packed with symbolism and stuffed full of dead hair
just like their lumpy mattresses.
I have nothing quite so macabre but do still hang on to a
worthless little marquesite sunflower that my Victorian Granny
Hendriks always wore. I have to admit that I didn't much care
for old Ada and when I see her pendant each morning hanging
from a vase on my dressing table I can still hear her
saying to my mother, "That child's much too flibberty gibbet
to have the patience to sew!"