What is that word in the headline? Did he sneeze when he started writing this column?
No, dear reader, I didn’t sneeze. The word is ‘tchotchke,’ a term my wife’s family uses for trinkets or knick-knacks. My wife’s grandpa, affectionately known by all in the family as ‘Papa,’ has a collection of tchotchkes that is large in number and wide in variety.
Unfortunately on Dec. 15, Papa passed away at the age of 87.
Papa was many things to those who knew him. He was a dog whisperer of sorts – dogs always knew he was good for a cookie – and was loved by all the dogs in his neighbourhood. He was the biggest fan of his grandkids and great-grandkids.
And, as I said earlier, he was a collector.
It didn’t matter what the item was, if it could be saved or re-purposed, Papa would find a place in his home for it. Some items were worth saving, and others… not so much.
After his funeral mass on Dec. 22, the family went back to his place for lunch. As we would traditionally do at the holidays, we gathered at Papa’s bar in the basement to exchange gifts. This year, however, there was a twist, according to Grandma.
“Papa’s gift to you all this year is to take whatever you want from the basement.”
Each adult received a bottle from the bar – most unopened because Papa was either gifted them or got a deal on them over the years – along with a tchotchke. It was then up to all of us to claim what we wanted.
Before I continue, words cannot justify how eclectic this basement is – neon signs, model boats, light fixtures made of pop cans, shelves full of various kitchen items, and boxes upon boxes of unknown items, just to name a few. Some of these items are very neat, others not so much.
The family jumped in, like an episode of Canadian Pickers, looking for any treasured tchotchke they could find.
There were some pretty good items. I found a brand-new Mastercraft angle grinder, and cousin Owen seemingly stocked his kitchen with all of the Oneida kitchenware he found. My son, Cameron, found a cool model sail boat and a wooden turtle.
My other son, Duncan, however, is cut from the same cloth as Papa. There is a reason I call him ‘Scrounger.’
He found all sorts of interesting knick-knacks that he was insistent he bring home: a bowling trophy (it wasn’t even Papa’s… how he got it, nobody knows!), a dancing Homer Simpson figurine, and “Billy Bass” (that ridiculous mounted singing bass that was sold during the 1990s on TV) to name a few.
I claimed an empty plastic tote to put all of our newfound treasures in. Duncan quickly filled it and continued to find other items, asking if he could bring them home.
When all was said and done, we had three boxes full of tchotchkes to bring home.
Someone then stated there was the attic and barn to go through when the weather gets warmer.
Duncan’s ears perked up.
“Let’s go do that now!”
Grandma turned to me laughing and said, “I’m going to read about this next week in the paper, aren’t I?”
“Quite likely,” I replied with a laugh.
Now for the part of the story that Grandma doesn’t know yet.
As we were packing up to head home from Fort Erie prior to the storm hitting, space in the vehicle became an issue.
Fitting two adults, three kids, two dogs, and the accompanying luggage into a vehicle is tough enough. However, we also did some last-minute Christmas shopping and got groceries, so space was at a premium. I played my best game of Tetris to get all of the must-have items in the van, leaving the three boxes of knick-knacks sitting in my in-laws’ garage.
Duncan came out to the garage and asked why his bowling trophy, Homer Simpson, Billy Bass, etc. were not in the car.
“Out of room, buddy,” I said.
The negotiation started at this point. I told him he could bring one item. He grabbed Homer Simpson and stuffed him inside his shirt. Then he grabbed a sail boat he found.
“OK, two items are all you can take,” I said.
As I said this, he begins leaning over and while maintaining eye contact, reaches for the bowling trophy.
“No!” I said. “The bowling trophy stays here. You already have a boat and Homer…”
“But what if I leave Homer here?” he says.
“Nope, he’s in your shirt. Homer goes home. Pick either the boat or the trophy,” I reply.
He set the trophy down and took the other two items to the car.
About a half-hour later, we finally get on the road. A few minutes into the trip, my wife turned around to give one of the kids a snack and says, “The bowling trophy is here.”
“What?” I say.
Sure enough, Duncan snuck the trophy into the car.
That wasn’t the only surprise of the trip. Our daughter Ivy snuck two bags of tchotchkes into the car that we discovered when we got home that night.
Our kids are collectors, just like their great-grandpa. And all I can say to that is God help us when it comes time to go through the attic and barn…
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Mike Wilson is the editor of Midwestern Newspapers. Comments and feedback are welcome at mwilson@midwesternnewspapers.com.
