Listening to the radio reports and reading the news of the horrific California fires, one is struck by the devastation visited upon these 2000 victims who have lost their homes and all the possessions left behind.

What losses they must have suffered, we can only imagine. Furnishings, fixtures, clothing, utilitarian kitchen items, appliances, serving pieces, power tools, grown-up toys - bicycles, a Harley, an ATV, garden tractor and collectibles. The roof over their heads.

Most folks had little warning, as strong winds changed directions and moved through dry timber and brush to engulf homes in the path of the wild fires. Viewing the pictures, we begin to realize that vast neighborhoods were destroyed, leaving random homes unscathed, while others are in total ruin. We look around at all our collections and wonder what we would lose if such destruction happened here.

In reflection, I question what I would or could save if given just a few moment’s notice to load a mini-van and leave. Would it be wifey’s tea pots, my ice buckets, our C.D. or record collection? Wifey might try to grab her hand mirrors or copper goodies. Surely some costume jewelry, and our camera.

Our antique furniture would not survive, her grandmother’s bed, our turn of the century guest room pieces, the Deco room hidden bar. Pictures might be hard to take from the walls, cottage prints in the living room, naughty ladies in the Deco room and precious light fixtures take too long to remove.

Dish sets, we have several, including a cobalt blue depression glass set, and set of hand painted china both from my mother. Also a Bavarian china set, and pieces with bluebirds from wifey’s grandmother and wifey’s paperweights - all would take too long to pack.

So what else would we grab? Beer steins, books, tax records, bowling ball collection, most likely we would leave behind!

What would you gather up from your abode at that moment of eminent catastrophe? Would it be a prized painting or two, some family heirlooms worth more as a sentimental item than a dollar value?

Possibly your collection takes little room and is stored in containers, a sports card collection, or an assortment of diamonds perhaps. Or is it bulky and awkward and needing to be packed to transport – Weller or Roseville vases – Heisey glassware – would you risk the time to pack or chance the breakage? Vinyl records, books, magazines or comics weigh a ton, if you’re collecting them, would you bother?

Is this the moment when you question having bought a Mini Cooper?

I guess we would do what so many of the people I have read about managed to do – grab the computer, the family pets and family pictures. While we do have many collections, and some items that are one-of-a-kind, our photos of beloved family and friends, fondly remembered vacations…these remain our prized irreplaceable collection!

Our thoughts and prayers go out to those that have experienced losses and hope we never have to make the decisions these unfortunate folks had to do.

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One of the saddest things to hear is that a dedicated collector is forced to sell their collection.

Whenever I’m at an estate sale, I ponder this horrid part of life.

The old “you can’t take it with you” smacks me in the face. And thrice the smarting pain, I’m faced with the knowledge that my own kids may not value any of the junk that I’ve hunted for over the years and so may just as casually offer up my goodies for sale. “They’re just things,” they’ll say, ignoring that these ‘things’ are proof of my life. (Ungrateful brats!)

And even if the estate sale is just because someone is moving to a smaller place (from the old family house to an apartment), it just seems too depressing. I wonder, should space limitations really be so accepted as we age? I mean if a collector is supposed to part with years of accumulated stuff, doesn’t that mean the dedication to searching stops? And if we stop searching, it’s like we give up…

Folks talk about how retiring can age a person. Just a few months, let alone a couple of years, can take a vibrant active person and shrink them into this old shell of a person we used to know. We no longer have a purpose and we fade. It’s the same thing when we become ‘too old to collect.’ It’s not just the things, but the action of collecting. If it is “I collect, therefore I am” then what’s the equation when we stop?

When I get to old to drive, my kids better take turns taking the old lady rummaging. And to auctions. And to thrift stores, collectors shows and whatever else I crave. If they don’t, I’ll hire a damn taxi to take me all about town. To make up for the cost of the cab, I’ll have to barter for better prices — but that’s part of the fun anyway. On weekdays I can have the cabby drive slowly through the parts of town which have garbage pick-ups waiting… And the taxi can be the get-away-car for dumpster dives (as quick as my brittle hips will allow). I’m not stopping collecting ’til I’m six feet under. And even then, my version of heaven has flea markets.

But getting old and/or dying is not the only reason collectors sell their entire collections off.

Sometimes, tough times call for drastic measures — and I’d call selling your entire Dr. Strange Collection drastic. Poor Howard Hallis quits his day job and part of tightening his belt means he might have to part with one of his babies. (I must turn away — I can’t watch!)

It’s a sad reality though. For those of us who prize collections nearly as much as our children (official rank: kids #1, pets #2, collections #3) the loss of a collection is a pretty deep cut. One should be allowed to grieve. Perhaps have services or memorials. At least have visitation rights.

And what of those who lose collections to fire, flood and tornados? (This story made us think, especially after recent events in our home.)

I guess one should prepare and plan to avoid such things. (Duck says: Aflac!) But this is America, where we already work several jobs to keep our heads — and collectibles — above water. (Duck again says: Aflac!)

“It’s only things,” people will say. But it’s not just things, is it. Those things are inexplicably tied up in who we are and what we do. And if you take them away, it hurts.