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I will never forget the day my mother decided to clean out her entire house after determining no children were going to return to the nest. I stumbled across a scene of absolute insanity: She was throwing out items I had come to love and cherish throughout my childhood years.

"Mom, where's those 1950's cat glasses you had in your dresser door?"
As she continued to rummage through another drawer, she replied, "Oh, I threw them out."

"Excuse me? What did you just say? Mom! Are you nuts?"
"Oh, Jackie. Those glasses were so old. They were just taking up space. I'll never wear them again."
"Mom, have you any idea how much money those glasses would be worth? I can't believe you threw them out!"
"Oh, Jackie. You come into this world with nothing and you leave this world with nothing. I didn't need those glasses."

Lesson learned.

I've got a little stash of favorite items I've collected throughout the years. My kids could care less about my collectibles, but when I take these items out of the glass enclosed curio cabinet and allow the memories of my travels to flood my mind as I hold each item in my hands, I am overwhelmed with a feeling difficult to describe. I love these cherished items, and I have given up on trying to figure out what will become of my collectibles when I am no longer here to gaze upon them.

I have, in my wiser years, come to realize that beauty truly is in the eyes of the beholder. What might be invaluable to me, might be tomorrows trash to someone else. I might have a diamond ring worth a million dollars, but it's only worth that much if I'm willing to part with it and someone is willing to pay me that much for it.

On the flip side, I can't help but wonder how many Picasso paintings I might have passed up at a neighbor's local yard sale, or perhaps I passed on the $2,000 blue sapphire and diamond ring thinking it to be a Cracker Jack prize.

I've finally learned the value of disregarding the actual value of an item and collecting something that moves my heart. In fact, as I think of those treasured items I have around the house at this moment, I realize I've got a handmade bird house sitting on my dresser that my ten year old son lovingly crafted just for me. A hand drawn picture of a snow storm adorns a wall just outside a hallway door my daughter painted at the tender age of four. Yes, these are the objects that move my heart, and while no one will be participating in a bidding war for these items someday, they each mean more than the world to me.

Learn more about this author, Jackie Curtis.
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