It’s very rare to find the idea of ‘collecting’ portrayed in a positive light, unless one is discussing the ‘collections’ of a large institution focused on the preservation of recognized artifacts - places like libraries or museums. Us individual, lesser collectors, if movies and TV are to be trusted, are ill-proportioned, socially inept, and avaricious creatures with little regard for their own health or relationships - as long as we can keep and maintain a pile of precious junk. I can list a half dozen examples without breaking a sweat, and maybe two dozen if I get really sweaty. We often forget that some of the museums’ greatest treasures come from careful, solitary collectors, who often freely donate their priceless ‘junk’ to museums.

So, when I came across ‘In Search of the Saveopotomas’ by Stephen Cosgrove (and illustrated by Robin James), I was a little surprised that an unhealthy ‘collector’ stereotype was being communicated to children as well. The book was offering them a cautionary tale against… well, I’m not sure what.

See, the Hoardasaurus collects things, but he’s generally a wreck because all he cares about is keeping his stuff safe from imagined thieves. Owning things, and placing too much importance on them, is ruining his life - not to mention his Scarface-worthy paranoia levels. Eventually, he’s convinced to give everything away and keep only what is essential to his survival, and to put even those leftover items into a bank (run by the Saveopotomas). Of course, all of his problems are solved when he gives up his collecting hobby, he can finally play with the other dinosaurs, and everything’s all unicorns and rainbows and candy-splosions. The end.

I think that one thing that needs to be distinguished and explained is the difference between ‘collecting’ and ‘hoarding’, as even occasional comments left here on Collectors’ Quest by readers have attacked the idea of ‘collecting’ without really understanding the idea behind it.

I’m sure that many of us have known people who have hoarded things, and who have soured our experiences with ‘collecting’, but we’re generally discussing people who have amassed such a quantity of ostensibly useless items out of fear of someday being caught ‘without’. You know, ‘without’ that newspaper article from 1945 that might be relevant today, or ‘without’ the perfect shade of shoes to wear with a certain pair of pants that they don’t even own yet. It’s my belief that a ‘hoarder’ collects out of fear - not out of a desire for quantity or quality, not within a theme, and to the detriment of their own health. This is the story of the Hoardasaurus - the person who doesn’t realize that almost everything in this world can either be replaced, or is just as precious in memory as it is in its physical form. It’s a genuine phobia, and there’s a difference.

I can safely say that I’m not a hoarder, because I have a job, and I can have conversations that don’t involve Batman, and I can pay my bills, and I’m not afraid. While I don’t think that ‘In Search of the Saveopotomas’ had much space for the subtle distinction between shades of mental health, the generalization that people (or dinosaurs) that spend any time collecting things are shifty, imbalanced characters is an unwelcomed one.

Sure, I completely appreciate the idea of giving as its own reward, and I very much respect a lifestyle that requires nothing but essential items - but it’s okay to have stuff, dammit. We work hard, and if I want a row of 30 Green Lanterns overlooking my drawing table because it inspires me, I’m going to make it so. If having a display of unused china perched atop my kitchen cabinets makes me feel warm, and makes my guests smile, that’s the way it’s gonna be.

I do not ‘collect’ out of fear. I think that many of us do it so that we can share our enthusiasm for the artistry and history of what we collect, and because some perfectly normal personality types take real solace in having a few tactile things to retreat to. When that occasional tactile retreat becomes a burden, that’s when you’ve become the Hoardasaurus. Your hair turns purple, a bird starts living on your head, and none of the other dinosaurs want to play with you.

And of course, keeping your very valuable items in a bank should go without saying. I don’t think that a child needs to learn that keeping money in a mattress or a hollowed-out Taun-Taun is a bad idea. So, while I still don’t grasp the moral issue that the book has with having stuff, I can agree that an overimportance on owning things isn’t healthy. Still, I’ve found great comfort in the occasional talisman - a book to carry (though not this one), or a well-made toy. It goes without saying that I’m not going to heft a library around on my back because I think someone’s going to steal it.

Take that, Saveopotomas. We conclude with the following ominous statement :

“So if you take up hoarding
And are thinking only of you,
Remember the Hoardasaurus
… And the Saveopotomas too.”

Steven contacted Collin regarding a psychology course assignment on collecting and hoarding. Since Collin and I had just been discussing this very subject, Collin directed Steven to contact me as well. I thought it might be more fun (and embarrassing), as well as helpful to Steven, if I replied to his questions here. Feel free to put your answers in the comments (or contact me via email and I’ll put you in touch with Steven).

When did you first start collecting? Around what age was this?

I can’t recall a time when I wasn’t collecting in some sense… I come from a family of collectors/dealers; similarly I’ve been buying to keep and sell (including buying to keep for a bit then sell), even as a child.

Would define your collections as being orderly? That is they are clean, relatively tidy? Are most of your other possessions organized or just your collections?

There is little tidy & organized in this house. Things may be grouped (books by subject, figurines together) yet covered in dust… or just as easily, things shelved or boxed, but not with any real organization other than “stored”. Even household things, I fear, are similarly so: dishes in cupboards, but mail in piles on the counter; books on shelves, but also open and read on tables and nightstands; for all the vintage sewing patterns correctly stored, there are sewing projects “in process” on the sewing machine. This household consists of interesting, active people who live, create and collect more than we clean & present.

Around how much, estimated, do you think you’ve spent on your collections? That isn’t to say the total value (because some things may be found or accepted as presents) but how much you personally have spent in total. Also perhaps a monthly expenditure.

I’d have no real idea on this in terms of total… Not only is it a lot of years, but we buy things at auction in lots, keeping a few items for ourselves and selling the rest… Also as we have a very tight budget, we have no set amount for spending. When we have $20 we head to book sales, rummage at thrift stores, auctions etc., but it’s strictly what money is available to “blow”.

Have you ever gone in debt because of collecting?

No.

What would your reaction be if your home were broken into and your collections were stolen?

It would be similar to the loss of photo albums and family scrapbooks for many of my collections. Some, however, are less important. But who would want to be robbed of anything?

Along the same lines, what if your family sold off some of your collection.

Are we talking a truck in the middle of the night — while I am alive?! That would not be acceptable. If after I pass, well, I’d hope the kids would keep what held memories (some of my favorite pieces, those on display they remember fondly) and that they would at least know there is value in the items and consider museums and private collections rather than donating or even undervaluing it at a sale on the front lawn… But I don’t expect all of my things to carry the same weight with anyone else as they do for me, even my kids.

Would you sell your collection for a reasonable amount of money?

Reasonable being relative, that’s pretty difficult to answer. Some, yes; others no… Well, everyone has their price, I suppose, so it might be more accurate to say that there are some collections or items which could only be sold at above market prices.

Do you think you will ever stop collecting?

No.

However, part of my collecting is research oriented and I can’t imagine a day when neither the hunt for the object nor the desire to learn more about something ends. I think losing such interest and desire would literally mean the end of me.

How do you feel when people take a negative tone towards collecting?

One one hand I feel sorry for them — they miss thrills I adore. On the other hand, that means less competition for me. lol

But I also think lots of people aren’t aware that they are indeed collectors… They would rationalize a shelf of books as research, a stack lot of postcards as documentation of the town’s history, or a box of things as preserving family history — but still not say they are a collector.

How would you feel if you were classified as having OCD? Do you think there is a relationship between hoarding and collecting?

Having a special needs child, I’ve spent hours & hours in waiting rooms & reading about mental illnesses, and I am of the opinion that it’s all on a continuum. In this case, the need to collect and store is rather normal and the trait has direct ties to human survival. We see this in food mostly clearly.

While my boxes of junk are less important in that vital sense, accumulation with a purpose (from warn fuzzy memories to the soft and fuzzy definition of one’s collection) is very natural. Many, including myself, would say that these sorts of collections are about preserving history, culture, and the story of humankind; which is our collective survival in a sense. Yes, even if it is silly toys from your childhood or plates depicting pop stars.

I think the distinctions for a real mental illness have to do with awareness, perception, and how much this affects your life, particularly in a negative way. In the case of hoarding, the clinical distinction is made when a person not only feels too much pain to part with something they can’t state a need for, let alone a reason for having it, but also cannot see how this has negatively impacted their lives — or if they have, cannot find a way to part with the objects. In Obsessive Compulsive Disorder, the action just replaces the object. (Grossly over-simplified, but the general gist.)

Sometimes the distinctions can be as tricky as “one man’s trash is another man’s treasure.” For example, have you ever seen Conspiracy Theory with Mel Gibson & Julia Roberts? In the film, Mel’s character confesses that he often is compulsively driven to purchasing copies of The Catcher In The Rye. He’s never read the book, but he finds purchasing a copy is one of the few things that makes him feel normal.

On one hand, this compulsion is odd, and certainly outside of his control; but on the other, his “habit” isn’t ruining him financially or otherwise. If it is but one symptom, it’s likely not such an issue. If combined with others, or taken to such extremes that buying multiple copies of books not read (nor likely to be read) affects the ability to pay rent, hold a job, interact with others etc., then it’s “a problem.” And I don’t just say that as the owner of books she may never read, including multiple copies of such books; I’m not rationalizing. It really is a matter of degrees.

Do you know of others who may have taken collecting too far?

I think we’ve all met people who have priorities different than our own, and it’s difficult to really know what “too far” is… If children aren’t being fed, if a collection has better storage facilities than people have shelter, then I’d say there’s something out of whack. But if a person prefers 500 salt & pepper shakers rather than the newest car model, or a vacation; or 300 figurines to stocks, or art another would call “an investment”; who are we to judge how they should spend their money?

Any final thoughts?

I’ve joked about all this, even wondered about it (for) myself somewhat seriously. I mean, what’s the point of all this stuff I have? Is it selfish? Is it crazy? But I’m beginning to believe that it’s none of those things because no one suffers for it. Not even me.

I can part with things; even if it’s only to sell one thing to have the money or space for five other things. I know the old line, addicts saying they can quit anytime they want to — they just don’t want to, but I feel in this case it’s true. If I stopped hunting for things and their stories, I’d be bored, and a lot less interesting. And I’d only read more to get that thirst sated. Who’s to say reading as escape, or researching in books, is any more important than questing for objects? Either way, your brain, soul, and shelves are full.

And I don’t mean, in any way, to imply that one collection is better than another — that comic books are less than non-fiction tomes, or that new action figures are less important than documents. Because the way I’m beginning to see things is that the act of collecting is about questing… It’s about finding more than objects, but answers.

Perhaps what we’re all doing, ultimately, is seeking the answer to “Why do I collect this?” And that answer is individual, unique. My answer will be different than your answer — even if we covet & collect the same “junk”. The joy is in finding that answer. Which is why collectors often change collections — they’ve answered one question and are off on a new question, a new quest. And this simply refutes the idea of a mental illness; for what can be more healthy than self-knowledge?

Now, Steven, Collin & myself would all love to find out what you think; so post your comments.

You all know by now that I’m a hoarder. Married to another hoarder, we also raise little hoarders. Combine all of our treasures, put them in a small house, and storage becomes an issue.

I’ve mentioned using suitcases for storage, but sometimes they just aren’t large enough or otherwise practical for daily use. That’s when I call in the big boys: antique trunks.

Antique trunks come and go in popularity, and their prices can range widely. The most precious or desireable of them are the round topped or dome trunks. These were the ones owned by the wealthy. The rounded tops meant that their luggage was placed on the top of the stacks in the cargo bay and therefore were less likely to be damaged by the weight of the others — as well as ensure that their trunks were the first to be unloaded. (Just like travel now, everyone wants to be the first off and on their way.)

I personally don’t own a single round topped trunk. It’s not just the price which keeps me away from them. The same reason these trunks were coveted back in the day is the same reason I dislike them now: you can’t set anything on top of them.

Not only do I like to stack my trunks, but I like to use them as furniture. If the top is round, you can’t set a lamp or candle holder on them, nor books and a beverage. In a small house, anything that doubles as storage and a piece of furniture is a-OK with me.

My very first trunk ever purchased (for $15 I believe) has been an endtable in 5 houses now. The pretty woodwork and fancy embossed metal make it my must-show trunk.

Inside the trunk are all of the videos and DVDs Derek and I own. With its location right by the sofa, it’s easy to take off the candle holder, the beverages, lift the lid and grab the flick to watch. (The kids have theirs on shelves upstairs so they can more easily eyeball what they are in the mood for, but this works well for we grown-ups.)

Upstairs, in the hall at the top of the stairs, we have two trunks stacked (along with my basket of puppets).

The large black steamer trunk one I got at an auction for $1. It’s not the most handsome trunk, but it’s very large and incredibly sturdy, and so it holds (nearly) all of our family games. On top of the big black trunk is the wicker trunk, one of my personal favorites.

Dating from the late 1800’s, the original twine used to latch the hinges on has fallen apart and the previous owner replaced it with fishing line (since it’s clear, you only notice upon close inspection). Otherwise, it’s near perfect. It even has large parts of the original shipping label attached, but it’s too difficult to read the old faded script to find out all the details. Lined with canvas, it was used commercially to ship across the ocean and I love the idea of it bouncing across ocean waves as a delivery box to end up being the only thing saved after all these years. (I paid $70 for this thrill about 7 years ago, and I still am happy to think of it.)

Since the wicker trunk is not as sturdy as the metals ones, and it needs to be kept light in order to be lifted off the other when we need to get at the games from the black trunk, it typically holds blankets or other linens. (When company comes, all the remaining family games from all over the house get put in it too.)

The last two trunks Derek and I both bought have not been quite put to use yet. They are of the smaller footlocker type. One is still in the garage from its purchase last fall. The trunk had been stored in a basement and the bottom had some water damage — enough to warp the wood within as well as rusting the metal. We didn’t pay for it. It was full of paper, art, blueprints etc. which we purchased at an estate sale — the trunk, the holder, was the free container to carry it out with. (When we get around to restoring that, we’ll likely let you know here. *wink*)

The other new-to-us-but-antique trunk we bought for $5 on Friday. I couldn’t pass up another trunk — especially since this still had its tray inside (complete with leather tabs to snap on to close the folding lid). Since none of my trunks have such a luxury item, I’m not sure what to put in it yet. I’m thinking some of my sewing materials… Fabric and notions should be light enough not to damage the tray, and it would be nice to have a place to tuck a project away in one place rather than in several suitcases or bins. (Now I just need to find a place near the sewing machine, so it’s handy.)

As for what trunks can hold, those uses are nearly endless. Anything that needs to both be stored and yet accessable is a good candidate. Just keep location in mind. Videos located too far away from the TV isn’t practical. Trunks packed so heavily that they cannot be lifted by one adult probably should not be placed on top of another. And of course, if your trunk has fancy details that you do not want to risk damaging, you may want to consider its use. Stacking could cause scratches, trunks used as endtables should have coasters, and even the items stored inside could cause damages (especially to fragile old paper linings). So think before you pack. Even if your stuff is never leaving home.

Last night on ABC’s Medical Mysteries there was a story on hoarders, folks who have so much junk in their homes they cannot live in them. While I’m not saying that all collectors are so afflicted, there were some really interesting points about the brains of these people that I thought were relevant to us.

Dr. David Tolin, the director of the Anxiety Disorders Center at the Institute of Living in Hartford, Conn., has devoted his career to studying what goes on inside the mind of a hoarder and he believes that such hoarding, currently considered a subset of obsessive compulsive disorder or OCD, really may be a unique disorder completely separate from OCD.

Included in Tolin’s work, and the TV show, were brain scans of hoarders taken during the process of decision making and even loss of their objects. While hooked up to a brain-scan machine hoarders are asked to look at pieces of their clutter, such as mail and coupons, and then decide whether to save them or throw them out. When they decided to toss things, they then had to watch it get shredded. (I can only imagine!)

At this point, two parts of a hoarder’s brain become active, each at odds with one another. The brain’s hippocampus “actively searches for memories about the object.” While most people don’t think about objects too much — they just let their orbitofrontal cortex make a decision — the hoarder thinks about the object, why they saved it, memories of getting the object, etc.

As a collector, I feel this way about most of my objects. I remember the funny little shop I bought it in, the sweater the lady who rung up the sale was wearing, where I first placed it when I came home, and nearly every place that object has been in my homes.

This ‘war’ between the two parts of the brain, rational decision making vs. memory, is comparable to punishment, according to Tolin. “When the person is trying to make a decision about what to throw away, it seems that the person who is hoarding, is processing this activity as if it is deeply punishing,” he said. “The person who hoards is going through a very, very effortful search of their memory to try to think of as many things as they can about this item before they make the decision. What this all amounts to then is a painful and effortful process of decision-making, that you and I might take for granted.”

Dr. Randy Frost, a professor of psychology at Smith College in Massachussetts, says, “One of the things we know about hoarding is that the beliefs people have about their possessions are so powerful, that it’s very difficult for them to get out of this behavior.” Now isn’t that the truth. My beliefs about my possessions are powerful… Just try and take that item out of my hands at a flea market — I double-dog-dare-you!

Gee, if I understand this — relate to it even — does that mean I have it? …But wait, just like with Ginsu Knives there’s more!

The hippocampus not only plays a part in memory, but in spatial navigation too. This is why hoarders (and I) don’t need to make nice neat stacks of orderly organization. We don’t have all our magazines in one pile, our bills in another, and a third for our tax forms because we don’t need to rely on neatness to find our stuff.

We know that our November issue of Fine Books & Collections is on that stack on the left, under the fuzzy duck bank, about half-way down, just under the folder with our tax forms. We can see it there. We can produce it anytime we like.

And I can tell you just how it got there — along with the duck bank and how and where I bought him…

If hoarding is a real syndrome, I just may have to call in sick tomorrow.

Tolin and Frost have co-authored “Buried in Treasures,” a self-help book about compulsive hoarding syndrome which I’m sure mom will buy me after she reads this.