Collecting is difficult since losing baseball cards

April 2006
        I don't want to talk about it.

  I heard the other day what some of the vintage baseball cards, of which I had a bazilion when I was a kid, are worth. Here I was, happy and stupid as an 11-year-old could be, with a collection of Rod Carew rookie cards, Pete Rose rookie cards, Sandy Koufax in his prime, Roberto (Quick! Someone call 9-1-1! His blood pressure is going through the roof!) Clemente. Stan Musi-- I can't go on. My heart can't take it.

  I don't want to talk about it.

  I heard not just what they are worth, but what just the duplicates that I had are worth. How was I to know? After three, four years of once-a-week (OK, twice, maybe three times a week, depending on the number of pop bottles I could find) purchases, my friend and I had a nice little cache of cards.

      That was cache, not cash. And I don't want to talk about it.

    In a fit of forgetfulness combined with generosity, I left those cards in someone else's care and they got away from me. I can still smell the cardboard and pink gum mixed scent that permeated my complete Dodgers collection.

        Sigh.

   Examining my life closely -- which heaven and Spouse both know I do about as often as wolverines smile --- that may be the only "collection" I have ever had. I'm just not a collector; not really a hobbyist. I tried to collect children -- got the collection up to four --  but they got away before I coluld see the final product. I hope they come back and show me a  blue ribbon.

      Stamps? Not a chance. Coins? Never could keep those around. Postcards? Jeez, do I look like a geek? Butterflies? That would take patience, wouldn't it? Jokes, quotes? Homer and Jethro songs? Now you're getting warm. But even those are probably not organized enough and I'm not passionate enough about it to be a true collection. A mish-mash, maybe.

    I think collectors have to have some sort of passion, misguided or not. Clean freaks and cynics would say that anything you have three of is a collection. But a true collector has to go overboard. Like the guy who has the world's largest collection of air sick bags (Steven J. Silberberg, 1,821). Or backscratchers (Gordon Weiss, at least 215). Handcuffs (Joseph W. Lauher, about 300).

        I'm trying not to go overboard and get to the weird stage, but I have caught myself collecting a few things recently, like news articles and studies and think pieces discussing the literacy of the rising generation. If you think your grandkids will be as well-read, informed, willing and able in reading and writing as you are, well, you're mistaking being high-tech with being highly intelligent. They will be wired and wireless at the same, that's for sure, but that's not necessarily a good thing. Yes, you should be concerned.

        I'm trying to come up with a collection of candidates (heck, either party, no party, I don't care) that can lead this country, and I'm coming up empty. Look ahead a half dozen years. Do you see anyone -- man or woman, donkey or elephant -- that toots your horn? Anyone who can rub salve on the internal divisiveness, increase our stature in the world and still make hard decisions that serve the common good? Thought so.

    As spring has sprung, I am trying to collect home-remedy-type methods for eliminating morning glory. Nothing seems to work for me. Do you have a sure-fire killer? Let me know. Quick.

  I have been collecting stories of people who are "lucky," for lack of a better term. One story I have tells of a golfer who was robbed and shot while on the course, but survived the attack. I have the picture of the golf ball that absorbed the bullet fired on him, complete with bullet. He was carrying it in his pocket. Send me your favorites.

        I have been trying to come up with a collection of reasons we are still in Iraq. I understand the concept of "if you break it, it's yours," but I have to tell you that this collection is getting pretty thin.

I'm keeping track of reasons to have light rail options up and down the Wasatch Front. That collection grows every day and every time I fill up my gas tank. Yes, there is a point where people will park their cars. And trucks. And semi-trailers. You might want to start a collection of reasons why the acceleration of domestic oil production is an imperative idea. I think the dominos have already started to fall.

   Come to think of it, though, I do have another collection that's been with me for decades:  a collection of silver fillings, from the cavities caused by the gum in scores of baseball card packs.

      And I don't want to talk about it.