I consider motherhood to be an identity by the way, and one that very much changes the soul. I had other interests and occupations while I was engaged in being a mother on a full-time basis, but motherhood was at the very centre of my life at that point. Now that my daughter is at a University almost half a day from here, my role as Mother has declined significantly but for two decades, it defined and shaped my destiny.
I am a Collector and always would have been one, had I not moved from continent to continent quite often, thereby precluding the opportunity to really amass a Collection of any magnitude. There is an old axiom to the effect that 'a rolling stone gathers no moss'. For better or worse, that was true in my own life until I had a child. I then stayed in the same place for two decades, mainly for her sake and not because I had chosen the location for myself. Children crave stability and although I felt that my own childhood was enriched immeasurably by world travel, it was very lonely as well in many ways. My daughter has traveled but her childhood was spent in one place.
Finally, I have moved from the house where I spent two decades raising my daughter. The new home is not that far from the old geographically but the problem of moving my belongings from the old home to the new has been huge. After a year, at least half of my belongings still are at the old house and it gives me a curious sense of dislocation as well as a great deal of anxiety. The older I become, the less secure I am emotionally. I can become agitated or anxious about things that would not have affected me in the least when I was Freya's age. I suppose part of the reason I am concerned about my belongings is the fact that I lost so much in my youth whenever I moved. I am heartily tired of losing things that I love. Furthermore, the chances of replacing anything have diminished drastically. I cannot reinvent my life so quickly at this point.
I cherish my collection of edged weapons as well as my collection of dolls and plush toys, my small collection of antique clothing and jewelry and my porcelain, but above all else, I cherish my books. I was able to bring a few bags filled with books to the new house last week and I spent a couple of hours on my birthday dusting them and placing them in bookcases. It was then that I realised a stranger only need look at my books to know me. All of my interests, including my interest in dolls and edged weapons, in Napoleon and Lawrence, in fine jewelry, textiles and porcelain... all of these are encapsulated in my library.
There is a difference between the world of the imagination and the concrete world and I do enjoy the tactile ability to hold a dagger or doll as well as being able to be surrounded by them when I lay in bed. Being physically disabled now makes these objects more important to me. In the past, when I lived in London or New York, it was easy enough to visit a museum to surround myself with treasures any time I wished. I no longer have the freedom to do that and I therefore believe that the little collections I have amassed have acquired more value to me because they now are the representatives or ambassadors of a wider world I cannot experience without great difficulty.
There is a wonderful woman here who has been my sole source of assistance in terms of moving my items from Point A to Point B. She is the very soul of generosity but I know she is tired of carrying bags of my dolls and books from one house to another. During the last trip, she turned to me and declared: 'You should get rid of some of those books!'
The world is divided between people who treasure books and people who really cannot comprehend their value. In this age of technology another split has occurred between people who still treasure real books and people who would be just as happy to read a book on the Kindle or laptop or other device. I am not opposed to the use of the internet for my research at all, but I still value my library of reference books far more. Technology changes and people who are relying upon the 'Cloud' for example one day may find that it has vanished into thin air, taking all their invisible stuff with it. Books are permanent, unless they are destroyed by an Act of God in a fire or flood or other natural or manmade calamity. One can inherit books from a parent or grandparent. One can pass them down to a child or grandchild. They are part of our personal history.
Once again, I am aware of the enormous gap between myself and most of the people I know here. There are so many qualities that set me apart at this point and not the least of them the inability to move freely from one room to another or to participate in many of the activities that people consider to be 'fun'. I no longer can dance or hike, for example. I could not go on most of the rides at a fair, although I would hope I still could ride a carousel horse if the opportunity arose. As I cannot sit for any length of time, however, the ability to travel has decreased somewhat.
And yet... and yet... do I not have a larger world at my disposal than this lovely lady who helps me move those books she considers disposable? I only need open a book to be transported to another place. Whether it is a book of fairy tales or a book on the history of Sumer, my mind can be freed temporarily from the shackles of physical disability as well as the shackles of time, space and reality.
There was a time when I was hospitalised for a terrible cluster migraine and I could not read. I needed darkness as well as silence but I did have an art book and I was able to look at one painting for a brief instant, shut my eyes and use my imagination to weave some sort of other reality from that painting... later to turn the page, look at another painting and perform the same magic. The pain did not disappear but I gave myself a little window from which to imagine freedom if not live it.
There are a number of authors of books for children who create rich tapestries, weaving art with a tale to create a marvelous place where some one who is suffering can find a ittle relief. Jan Brett is one of these. Arthur Rackham and Howard Pyle are two other incredible artists who brought their tales to life through drawings and paintings. Edmund Dulac... well, one could compile a long list really. Those are some of the books that are treasures beyond price.
Here are some of the books most recently brought to the new house. The reason the same book appears twice in front of both rows of books, is because a portrait of me is on the cover. It is the Dutch edition of 'Blind Side' by William Bayer. The photo was taken across the road from my flet in the East Village, 'back in the day' when I lived in Manhattan. A very different life from the one I lead now!
