And so I find myself watching my grandmother as she passes the time watching Bonanza reruns. My family has also prepared for the occasional weekend of alternately scheduled programs by purchasing a Bonanza DVD. I think this is much like entertaining a child with a Barney DVD. But while the occasional characters of the Wild West die off, nobody has successfully taken a Smith & Wesson to the purple freak of a dinosaur.
Anyway, a man will do just about anything to keep his mind occupied. For me today this included a game of counting the excessive bears in the household. Yes, bears. For some reason, my family continue to buy bear-themed gifts for my grandma when in actuality probably just one could be re-gifted every 5 minutes. (Yes, the unfortunate reality of Alzheimer's.) And no, there are no up-and-coming boy scouts in the family nor do we share any admiration for the great city of Chicago.
The bears, I'm sure, are just a recent allure. I certainly don't recall this fascination when I was younger, not that I was paying astute attention to her collections back then- I was too busy amassing a kick-ass Matchbox set. But I think this kind of collection fervor usually comes and goes in waves, for most people. It seems like everyone has (or should have) a hobby or something that peaks their interested more than the average soul. Something like cats, or Mustangs, or sunflowers, or beer. A topical interest that allows cheeky t-shirt makers and calendar publishers to profit by your family and loved ones who just presume that those artifacts are necessary to complete your collection.
But then you get one too many of these thoughtful gifts and then you start to realize that you're becoming that person. The one who is crazy about dogs. Or who respects no other animal but cuddly koalas. You realize that people see you as more fond of the subject then you ever thought you were. A bit of human nature whereby we see you display any interest in a subject and just automatically link you to it forever. So then it is time to cut the cord. Throw away all useless paraphernalia (pretty much all) and start looking for a new association. (Except for beer, and wine for that matter, those hobbies never die out). For me, as a kid, it was wolves. For my mom it was butterflies. And now, for my grandma, it is bears. Except she doesn't have the wherewithal to know when enough is enough (ironically a garbage bag is actually stuffed with bears and further stuffed in the closet). So they just accumulate and the rest of my family still fancies her "hobby" as cute, which it still is, and never-evolving.
So back to the game, I easily reached 52 before I decided that that was enough and that I won. Enough for every season, or for every week of the year. But there were a couple of notable non-stuffed versions I encountered. A Panda Buffet 2012 wall calendar (no idea how this made it in the house since this family isn't known for it's culinary diversity), a glass money holder (with a screw-top lid proclaiming it as a bank), and a couple of plastic honey jars. There was also this magnet, which I presume must either be Smokey or Yogi in the sketch since I didn't catch either of them elsewhere in the home and I can see where people may get them all confused. Not that we're stereotyping, they all kind of look the same, really.
