In her day, my mother was a passionate collector. Clocks. Pie birds. Potato mashers. Tractor seats. Raggedy Ann dolls. Mrs. Butterworth bottles.
I once ventured into a vast junk shop in Reidsville, N.C., with her. It was the size of a Wal-Mart, stacked to the ceiling with clutter (or, to my mother, treasures). Almost instantly, my mother spotted a Mrs. Butterworth bottle in a remote corner on a high shelf that she simply couldn't live without.
Perhaps this gives you some idea of the enormous task my sisters and I have faced, contending with our mother's collections. (My mother is very much alive, but lives in a memory-care facility now.) Recently, my sisters and I endeavored to sort through her stuff, so that we could give it to an auctioneer.
This post is about a few of the things I discovered and brought back with me, including something my father had set aside for me decades ago, to my surprise. This time around, I decided to show instead of tell. I hope you enjoy my first "Southerner in San Francisco" video.