a collectable word…

My name is Cheryl and I'm a collector.

For all who know me as a writer and reader, it will come as no surprise that I collect books. This makes me a bibliophile. I also consider myself a logophile, or collector of words, some of my favourites being collective nouns. Who can resist a murder of crows, a plump of ducks, a murmur of nuns, or a ponder of philosophers?

Granted, most collections are more tangible.

In my youth, I amassed an impressive set of china horses. Oh, how I loved those horses. I probably should have known better than to leave them at the mercy of my mother when I left home. The hapless herd was rounded up and sold at a church bazaar before a fresh layer of dust had time to settle in my abandoned room. The horror! 

Thanks to Pinterest, I can once again run amok with horses, accumulating dozens of gorgeous specimens with no shelf space required. This is important, because I've moved on to new collections that now share my home, namely, blue glass poison bottles and badgers. Yes, badgers.

Why is it that a person who collects beer bottles has a fancy moniker like labeorphilist, while a collector of cobalt blue poison bottles is simply known as a 'cobalt blue poison bottle collector'? There should be a word! 

Toothpick collectors have a word: entredentolignumologists. Even collectors of cheese labels have a word: tyrosemiophilists.

And what of badger collectors?  An unusual obsession, perhaps, but surely I'm not the only badger collector out there. And, darn it, we are worthy of a word!

My personal badger collection includes several plush toys – even a coveted Steiff. This might, if we're very, very liberal with the definition, allow badger collecting to exist as a subset of genus arctophilia (teddy bear collecting). But my passion isn't limited to fabric toys. I have many painted and printed badgers, carved stone badgers, ceramic, glass, and even pewter badgers – art, mugs, plates, pins, earrings – not teddy bears by any stretch of the imagination. It would appear I'm going to have to create my own word.

Just a few of many gems from my badger collection: a snugly plush 'Jellycat' badger, a Wedgwood "I Spy" plate, two carved Zuni badger fetishes, and a sleeping badger painted rock.

According to the Oxford Dictionary, the term arctophilia or arctophilist is taken from the Greek words 'arcto' (bear) and 'philos' (loving). Makes perfect sense as a teddy bear collector's handle. Looking to my list of collective nouns, I believe I've found the ideal starting point for my new word. A group of badgers is called a 'cete', from the Middle English word for a badger's den (sett) with roots in the Latin 'cetus' or coming together. Combine 'cete' (group of badgers) with 'philos' (loving), and a badger collector becomes a cetephile or cetephilist. I like it! Cetephilist. A truly collectable word.

According to The Psychology of Collecting by Mark B. McKinley, "Everybody collects something." Sigmund Freud blamed our human propensity to collect on latent potty training issues. (Um... ew.) I choose to believe our human urge to collect comes from a combination of nostalgia and "ooh, pretty!" What do you think? Are you a collector?

My name is Cheryl and I'm a cetephilist.

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stillpoint is the blog of Canadian author Cheryl Cooke Harrington

wishes and horses...

Meet Oliver, the tall, dark, and duskily handsome horse of my three-year-old dreams. For me, it was love at first ride. Don't let my grumpy expression fool you. That frown was all about Dad's refusal to hand over the reins and let me gallop. Even worse, after our plod around the farmer's meadow was over, I was expected to give Oliver back! Copious tears were shed. As my parents always told it, I spent the rest of our brief vacation begging for another ride, and the next eighteen years begging for a horse of my own. Dad's reply was always the same: "When we live on a farm, you can have a horse." (Years later, after I'd married and actually did live on a farm, I reminded Dad of his promise. "We still don't live on a farm," he said. "Guess the horse is up to you." Well played, Dad. Well played.)

Fast forward a few years from Oliver's sunny meadow in cottage country to Williamson Road School in Toronto. It was there I met Kate, a girl who shared my passion for horses. For a time, Kate lived across the street from the old Woodbine\Greenwood Race Track. 

Old Woodbine/Greenwood Racetrack, Toronto (Public Domain image)*

We could see the home stretch from her second floor sunroom window and spent many happy hours squinting through binoculars, imagining ourselves in silks, winning races on the backs of sleek thoroughbreds with names like Victoria Park and Blue Light. In the real world, we delighted in occasional trail rides on a sedate pair of bays named Smokey and Chip. Life was good… until a severe allergic reaction barred me from saddle and stable forever. [Insert teen angst here.] Oh, the cruel injustice of it all!

Kate and I amassed impressive china horse collections, naming and creating a colourful back story for each one. Mine were displayed on the mantel above the fireplace in our living room – a generous concession on my mother's part (although, at the time, I couldn't imagine a more perfect accent for her tasteful decor). Mom packed up the horses for me when I married but I didn't take them – no room for a childhood collection in my new, grownup life, I guess. Eventually, she donated the herd to a church rummage sale. I like to imagine they found a home with another young girl who loved them.

Kate wasn't so willing to give up her treasures. When I phoned a few weeks ago to ask if she still had any of her horses, she knew exactly where to find them: in a box, under the bed. Now, why didn't I think of that? We pulled them all out to take these pictures and play with them one more time. Proving what I should have known all those years ago – there's no such thing as too old!

I'm a grandmother now and it seems my beautiful granddaughter has inherited my love for horses. (Happily, she didn't inherit my allergies!)  She loved every minute of riding camp this summer and is now taking weekly lessons at a local stable. What a joy it is to see her bond with the horses and watch her confidence grow. For me, it's a dream come true in the best possible way.

My grandaughter walking with Jenna

 Afterword: Retirement has inspired me to start a new collection of horses. This time, thanks to Pinterest, no shelf space required! Yes, I'm still Horse Crazy after all these years.   

* Racetrack Image Credit: by James Victor Salmon 1911-1958 - Toronto Public Library. Licensed under Public Domain via Wikimedia Commons