Y'all are in for another short entry into this week's blog challenge. The prompt this time is "odd things that I collect."
You see, except for dust bunnies, I don't collect anything.
In my teen years, I collected bookmarks. I have no idea where any of them are. As an older teen and in my early twenties, I collected Ghost Rider comics. I have most of the first series of 80 issues, including all of the first 10 issues. Geeky, yes. However, I haven't added to the collection in decades. It sits inside a cedar chest waiting for someone to once again show interest in the improbable melodrama of Johnny Blaze.
I love art glass, but my house is short on storage space and I can't afford to indulge that particular greed. Some who know me might claim I collect cats: I have six. Five live in the house and one is a "working" cat. She controls vermin in the barn. I don't consider six cats an extensive collection, especially when I have a cousin who has 40.
I like earrings, too. Attending the Fair at New Boston with a friend a couple of weekends ago, we looked at period-accurate jewelry. I pined after a few pieces, but said that I didn't need any. So, I didn't buy any.
For a while, some folks accused me of collecting alpacas. At one time I had a decently sized herd, but it was paltry in comparison to those kept by the professional breeders and showmen. I'm down to just one elderly llama now.
I never considered myself a collector of horses. I have two, soon to be three. (Sage is coming back.) I know people with many more than that.
Perhaps I collect books. The "to be read" pile loaded within my Kindle grows almost daily and I will never catch up to reading everything I download. But I can hope.
So, no, there's nothing I really collect, at least nothing odd. Except, maybe, delusions of grandeur.