Collection (The)

Aunt Louise collects cups and saucers. "Fancy ones with flowers,"
she admits, chuckling. "But I didn't spend much for them -- picked most
of them up at yard sales!" Aunt Louise bakes delicious cookies and pies
and breads. When she announces that the tea is steeped and she has "a
bit of lunch ready," you're in for a feast!

Her husband, Kevin, has built several shelves in the living and dining
rooms in their old captain's house in Windsor, Nova Scotia. It has been
a bad summer for ants; the sticky, six-legged creatures crawled from
the powdery poison and her beloved cups and saucers were their final
resting places. Uncle Kevin stood on a stool for hours, passing down
the dishes to Aunt Louise who carefully washed them in hot, soapy
water.

Uncle Kevin teases me about being a bachelor. He says I'm too nice. My
face always turns red whenever he begins. "Be more aggressive with
girls, Matt! You're a handsome young man."

"I'm shy," I admit.

"Sheer foolishness!" he says, laughing. "Don't talk about the latest
book you've read. That's utterly boring to young ladies who want to
kick up their heels and dance! Buy them a drink and get them talking
about themselves. If they wanted to learn about William Shakespeare
they'd have gone to the library."

"Now, now," Aunt Louise says, brushing the bread with butter that she's
just removed from the oven. "You used to talk about boxing magazines to
me. Remember, old man?"

"That's completely different," he answers. "That's jock talk."

Their son Jimmy, my cousin, collects clowns. He lives in Yarmouth in a
mobile home overlooking the Atlantic. He can watch the huge ferry
arriving from Portland, Maine. The first clown was a figurine his first
landlady gave him. He now has about seventy-five of different sorts --
one even sings.

He has a few calendars and a mat on his bathroom floor with a face
having orange hair and red lips, which looks up between your legs while
you're sitting on the can. We had a few beers one evening -- well,
actually several. Later my aim wasn't as steady as it should have been
in the bathroom. I stared down at the sad clown on the wet mat.

Jimmy also loves my favorite TV show, Bugs Bunny. We joked that we
should be out picking up women. We sat there and laughed our heads off
while the cartoon aired.

I've started my own collection of memorabilia. I keep them in a buffet
in my Halifax apartment. Uncle Kevin thinks it's a foolish collection;
Aunt Louise finds it somewhat disturbing. She said, "Why don't you
collect stamps or something?"

Jimmy just laughed when he saw it. "You crazy nut!"

I grinned, saying nothing.

Jimmy has invited me back to Yarmouth; he's got more Bugs Bunny
tapes!

There are a knife, a corkscrew, and a hammer in my collection. They sit
on a red silk scarf (also a piece of my collection, which still has the
slight fragrance of perfume). I had to clean the corkscrew and the
knife because they were stained with blood.

The hammer didn't need cleaning; I had smashed her on the head, just
once. Quick. Hard. She had been sitting on a green bench reading. I had
taken my bagged lunch to the park. She had smiled when I said, "Do you
mind if I sit here?"

The victim wearing the scarf had struggled violently.

I care for my collection as dearly as Aunt Louise does for her china
and Jimmy does for his clowns. I hope to collect dozens of other
items.

Right now, my collection comes solely from Nova Scotia. I'm planning a
trip to London, England later this year. I hope to pick up a few pieces
while I'm there.