The Dust Collector in the Corner
GiaB prompt # 21 furniture
Over there, in the corner. See it? Between the overstuffed couch with the floral pattern and the woven-cane-backed armchair with the saggy seat cushion. Tall, with four quarter-circle shelves beginning spaced bottom to top. I saw them in so many living rooms and sitting rooms when I was growing up. The shelves littered with dusty tokens of memories. Of, trips taken, people lost to Death, and many ceramic animals.
I always heard it called a “knick-knack shelf”. Whenever our family took trips to the beach or the mountains, I could see their source. The tourist shops carried generous selections of these animals and figures. There were dolphins, bears, pigs, frogs, and gnomic figures. Many of them molded as part of an ashtray — people who had never smoked, and never would, bought those, too.
The non-smokers used them as coin trays or places to put jewelry. The items removed from fingers and earlobes until it was time to store them. That time may never arrive, so the jewelry stays there and collects dust like the rest of the menagerie.
They made the corner into a sort of mini-shrine
On those shelves, there was usually a cross or four. Being the South, they were the “little t” shaped reminders of hope. Life could be so harsh for farmers and textile workers. Hope for a better afterlife was essential for day-to-day survival.
Augmented by a print of Jesus hanging on one of the walls over the stand. They made the corner into a sort of mini-shrine. One dedicated to their hopes and dreams. The hopes and dreams of people who would know little about material comforts. The sentimental nature of the collections spoke to the things in life that were both essential and trivial.
Zero interest in what the old folks talked about
Those “knick-knack” stands entertained me if I couldn’t go out to play or just mess around. I had zero interest in what the old folks talked about. They wanted to know who was still living and, if anything notable had occurred since last they spoke. Aside from Death. If the weather was stormy, or I had been forced to wear “good clothes”, then I had to stay inside. I was dependent on these mawkish displays of questionable taste.
I could look all I wanted, but the prime directive was to never touch anything on the shelves. That presented a difficulty if the little elephant was turned at an awkward angle. I didn’t want to contemplate an elephant’s backside. Carefully, surreptitiously, I reached over to reposition the thing I wanted to see better. Careful to make no sound, and for God’s sake, don’t turn it over.
Of course, when a child is making no noise, it’s a sure sign that he’s up to something. Momma was ever alert to the possibility of embarrassment in front of her elders. She would quietly rise from her place in the room where the talking happened to recon my behavior. Avoidance of being caught was a game requiring nerves of still, the patience of a rock, and quietness that Daniel Boone would envy.
What the hell is a knick-knack?
That I often failed to maintain proper vigilance was a foregone conclusion. One could only hope for a success rate of about thirty percent. Like a great hitter, those successes stand out in memory. The failures that elicited scolding or even a decent spanking have faded into the distant past. That’s mentally healthy, you know.
The “knick-knack” remained a center of interest only when the outdoors was off-limits. The question still remains, though, “What the hell is a knick-knack”?