Memories in Miniature

By Valerie Battle Kienzle

Confession time.  I’m sentimental and I’m a collector, but I'm not a hoarder. 

The collections I enjoy have no real monetary value.  The words “treasured trash” have been used to describe them. Perhaps their only value is in my head and heart.  

My favorites include various paper ephemera – match book covers (smoking restrictions have made them almost extinct), vintage postcards, postage stamps from throughout the world and vintage advertisements.  The dated graphics and muted color printing of years gone by are works of art to my untrained eyes.

We moved last year, and the task of packing and transporting all this stuff was mine alone.  Couldn’t get anybody to help me with those boxes and bins! 

I carefully wrapped things when we first began the packing process.  But as time and patience grew short, I simply placed things in boxes, labeled then and carted them to the garage for transport.  As the boxes piled up, I told myself this was a great opportunity to pitch and purge.  And I did get rid of lots of household unnecessaries, but not the collections.

By the time I got to the old shadow box on an upstairs wall, I no longer cared how things were wrapped for the move.  I remember grabbing the still-full shadow box from the wall and stuffing it into a large shopping bag.  I placed it on a closet shelf at the new house and there it remained for months.

One day after our household was moved and the furniture unpacked, I spotted the shadow box.  Remembering that nothing had been individually wrapped, I attempted to keep it flat as I pulled it from its bag.  Amazingly, nothing was broken. 

I hadn’t really looked at its contents in a long time.  I sat down with it and realized I have yet another collection.  Like the other collections, it contains nothing of monetary value, but what it does contain is an assortment of tiny trinkets -- items symbolic of various ages, stages, people and moments of life. Here are a few items from the collection:

·        Beaded American flag made by my daughter’s friend after Sept. 11, 2001.

·        Bible that was part of a flower arrangement Mom got the day I was born.

·        Bassett Hound figurine (I’ve shared my life with three so far.)

·        Great-Grandma Smith’s pocket watch.    

·        Tiny typewriter and dictionary from Journalism School days at MIZZOU.

·        Bicentennial doll from 1976.

·        High school ring and graduation tassels.

·        Matchbox Miata convertible from a friend who died with brain cancer.

·        Mugs with the kids’ names on them.

·        Cooking tools from a long-ago Barbie set.

·        Beer stein from college friends who moved.

·        The world’s smallest Santa.

·        Great-Grandma Ogilvie’s souvenir pin from the 1896 Nashville, Tenn., Centennial celebration.

·        Bottles of 7UP from my days working for The Seven-Up Company. 

The items most likely would be tossed out as trash by others, but each and every one represents a tiny piece of my life.  The shadow box now has a place of honor on my desk.  I look at it sometimes and am thankful for the visible reminders of special people, places and events.

 

 

 

Coco's Collection

Photos by Erin Poppe and Nichole Finke

Story by Stephanie Bearce

Her third word was shoes. Mama. Dada. Shoes. I should have known we were in trouble.

I blame it on my sisters who bought her adorable patent leather shoes and ruffled socks when she was a baby. They started the whole “collection”. And that’s what Nichole calls it. Her “collection.”

“Mom, some people collect stamps. You collect those rocks. Trust me, shoes are better. I mean, I don’t see you wearing your fossils.”

She has a point.

Of course it didn’t help when she went to work at a shoe store.

“Mom, you have got to see these boots. They are so sweet.”

“But I really needed those heels. I didn’t have any that were purple.”

It was okay when she was living at home. Nichole was a very tidy child. Her shoes were organized into racks and boxes. I tried not to think about how many she had.

“Mom, flip-flops do not count as shoes. And neither do tennis shoes. Well, unless they are Coach.”

Funny, but in my closet tennis shoes definitely count as shoes. As a matter of fact it is a lot easier to hunt fossils in tennis shoes than in sparkly high heels.

The real trauma came when it was time to go to college. Forty-seven pairs of shoes in a dorm room the size of - well, a shoebox.

“I can’t leave any of them at home. What if I need them? Besides they would miss me.”

“They are just shoes.”

“Mother! It’s a collection. I can’t break it up.”

We crammed them in. It was high heels floor to ceiling. Her roommate had three pairs of tennis shoes.

Soon Nichole was the college fashion consultant. She loaned out her shoes for first dates, formals and costume parties. Her shoes went on interviews, to funerals, weddings, and even the Big 12 Tournament. In addition to being the head of shoe central, she organized outfits, created hair styles and did make up.

“These girls need me!”

I wondered how all this time with shoes and fashion was going to fit in with her architecture studies. I mean she was supposed to be studying buildings, artists, and history. I was pretty sure there was not a course on Blahnik, Jimmy Choo, or Kate Spade.

I shouldn’t have worried.

“Mom, there is the most amazing program for architecture students. We get to go to Italy and study product design. I can spend an entire semester studying shoes!”

Who knows. Maybe someday Nichole really will have her own collection. CoCo’s Original Shoes. I guess I better clear out some space in my closet. I wonder if she will design a special pair of fossil hunting shoes. I could use a little glitter in my life.

But then, of course that’s why God sent me Nichole.

Looking For Beauty In Unexpected Places

Contributed by Valerie Battle Kienzle

I love colorful graphics. I collect paper ephemera that few people want -- things like cancelled stamps and matchbook covers. Most people would call it junk. I call it "treasured trash."

The stamp collection began when as a child I was given a basic stamp-collecting book. Then a stamp-collecting aunt passed away and I inherited the stamps no dealers wanted. Some dated to the 1930s. Very cool graphics.

I grew up and the stamp book moved to the back of the closet, but I maintained an interest in stamps. Jobs at a state tourism office, a daily newspaper and a soft drink company meant that I encountered stacks of mail from all over the world. Unique and colorful stamps always caught my eye.

"That one's just to unusual to throw away, " I often thought.

One by one, cancelled stamps filled envelopes in my desk. Then they took over a drawer. Finally I purchased a large plastic box for the thousands of pieces of colorful paper.

"Are you a pack rat?" someone asked.

No.

"Will you ever organize those things?" another questioned.

Probably not.

Do you enjoy that trash?

Absolutely!

Spain. Canada. Mexico. England. Africa. The Netherlands. My free-form collection includes stamps from these and many other places -- places I'll probably never visit, but I DO enjoy their stamps.

Walt Disney. Rural America. Famous inventors. Wild flowers. These are just a few of the stamp series issued by the U.S. Postal Service during recent decades. I have examples from many series. They chronicle social trends, style and current events. The stamps didn't cost me a cent, but to me they're priceless.

The same with matchbook covers. I began picking up these tiny advertising treasures in the 1960s. In those days, smoking was cool. The U.S. Surgeon General had yet to issue warnings about the health risks associated with smoking. In homes, at parties and restaurants, on airplanes -- if someone wanted to smoke, they lit up.

And matches were found everywhere. Businesses, products, restaurants, services -- most had custom matchbook covers. They could be found on tables, in baskets, in hotel room ashtrays and at auto dealership waiting rooms. I didn't smoke, but the cover graphics caught my eye. Soon I was picking them up wherever I went.

I tossed them in drawers and displayed them in souvenir glasses. I raided the kitchen junk drawer and found a stash used by Dad to light the barbeque grill.

Family members and college friends started picking them up for me. The Midwest. The East Coast. Canada. Spain. The collection grew. An old metal popcorn tin made a safe place to store the ever-increasing collection. Co-workers brought back matchbook souvenirs from their world travels. The collection continued to grow, eventually filling four large tins.

I enjoyed rummaging through the color-filled tins, amazed at the variety of businesses and locations represented.

Years passed and the tobacco industry became more regulated. Health concerns related to smoking and second-hand smoke were top news. Smoking was banned on airplanes and in public places. Municipalities passed no-smoking ordinances. Today, the supply of custom-printed matchbook covers has virtually disappeared.

I recently had dinner at a private club. Three decades ago making a dinner reservation at this club meant that matchbook covers with the member's name embossed on them would be found beside each place setting. Currently, the club allows smoking only in a secluded cigar bar -- far removed from the vicinity of the main dining rooms. I spotted a basket of matches on the bar there. It contained a few matches in blank white covers. Very generic.

So my matchbook collection is no longer a growing collection. Like full-service gas stations, it seems that custom-printed matchbook covers are a thing of the past.

Several winters ago I decided to organize (sort of) my collection. I divided them by regions and lost count after several hundred. I removed the matches, laid the covers flat and secured them to a poster-sized frame from Target. I continued this process until five poster frames were filled. They now line our basement walls. It's fun to look at them and remember places and people's faces from years gone by.

A search of the Internet reveals that there are matchbook collectors and match cover societies worldwide. And serious stamp collectors spend big bucks to obtain rare old stamps in pristine condition. But not me. I'm not interested in buying, selling or trading matchbook covers. And who would want my used stamps?

So these collections are my treasured trash. Amazing and beautiful graphics. Great memories. And they didn't cost a cent!

A Simple Cup of Tea

Contributed by Valerie Battle Kienzle

The British had the right idea. Taking time to enjoy a cup of tea requires slowing down and calming down -- at least for a few moments. Tea soothes the soul and provides renewal for mind and body. Sipping tea allows a savoring of the moment.

Tea has been a popular beverage for almost 5,000 years. People have cultivated it, been nurtured by it and fought over it. Black tea, green tea, oolong tea, white tea. The plant species camellia sinensis, when combined with water, maintains unrivaled popularity worldwide.

Tea is my favorite beverage. Hot or cold. With or without lemon. Spiced or plain. Always sweet. (I'm a native of the south.) I love it! Drinking tea is an important part of each day. And as a tea lover, I have a large and varied collection of tea cups, saucers and tea sets. At last count, the collection includeds 19 assorted fine china cups and saucers, three demitasse (small cup) sets, seven assorted demitasse cups and saucers, and six miniature tea sets.

I never made a conscious decision to collect tea items, and I didn't purchase most of them. The collection just happened. Within a few years' time, a great uncle died, an aunt died, my dear grandma passed away, followed by my husband's grandmother. Wills were read. Household items were divided and distributed, but in each case no one wanted the tea cups and saucers. Family members claimed antique furniture, cherished quilts and silverware, but the tea cups had no takers. No one wanted them -- except me.

I took them, but didn't really know what to do with them. Large, small, plain, delicately decorated, all colors, footed and in various shapes. Each cup and saucer pair was unique -- and to me, beautiful. I hated to see them discarded.

Then I began to hear stories about the origin and history of the cups. The small demitasse cups marked "Occupied Japan" were souvenirs sent to my aunt by a relavite during World War II.

The cups marked "Fine Bone China" -- Anysley, Spoede and Wedgewood -- were given to my husband's grandmother by various friends who

traveled to Europe. She selected and drank from a different cup each morning. (What a lovely routine!)

The great uncle was mayor of a small southern town in the 1920s. He and his wife did lots of entertaining in their home, and served guests from the tiny footed cups at the end of meals.

The bright floral cup with the chipped rim and deeply stained white interior held Grandma's tea. She was a rugged Depression-era farm wife, but enjoyed a soothing cup of hot tea each morning -- a few moments of quiet refinement in a day usually filled with chores and manual labor. The cups' stained finish speaks of a thousand early mornings filled with her favorite warm amber beverage.

Each cup and saucer in my collection is unique. Each has a story. And I enjoy and appreciate each one. I like to think about the people who may have sipped from these cups -- members of the church service guild and the bridge club ladies, a young widow, the weekly quilting group, small-town politicians and circuit pastors, war brides and hard-working rural housewives. I gently hold the cups and feel a connection to those who drank from them long ago.

In today's fast-paced world, tea is often gulped from a coated paper cup or a Styrofoam cup. Tastes great and soothes the soul, but there's something special about sipping from a delicate china cup. It's a way to truly savor a few moments of luxury in a fast-paced world.