All of my life, I have loved tiny things. I wished I could find a fairy house in the trunk of a tree. I wanted to go inside a mouse hole to see all the little furniture that was in there. Beatrix Potter and the rabbits in their little blue coats. All of it.
As I grew up, I collected smalls. Every place in my house has them: little animals, vases that will fit just one little clover bloom. Tea sets for children. I have so many of these, and I love them all.
We are moving very soon, to a lovely, modern apartment way up high. It has huge windows, lots of light, and an open floor plan. I ordered all new furniture. There will be just one bookcase, in the living room, for books and the few accessories I will choose to put in the shelves. But tiny things will be lost in it.
This means that most of my tinies will have to be left behind, sold in the estate sale after we move. I will take just a few of them to set on my bureau, the one in the walk-in closet. The new, stylish chests I bought for the bedroom won’t readily accommodate little things. So this means I have to choose wisely. Can you believe it? I am losing sleep over this! I have taken to wandering around my house, speaking softly to my little things, apologizing to the ones I have to leave behind.
My mind changes every day. I worry about this all the time. No, I don’t want to get one of those typesetter boxes with all of the little openings. That is just not my style, and I think those went out of vogue in the eighties. Nope, I will just have to choose.
Neither of my children particularly likes small things, and so giving them to my girls isn’t an option. I suppose I can take a few more than I need, and rotate them on my bureau top. I will do that. But still, many of my favorites will have to be left.
It is a good problem to have. There are so many big terrible things in the world. So I straighten my shoulders, take a few more laps around my big, old house, and say my goodbyes.