The story of a collection

Once the collection is disassembled the secrets of a life are forever dispersed. Independently the pieces have token or weight value. But the priceless value of life, the generations, the journeys, become dust. Who was the last person to close this box. Did that person know the many sources and stories behind each treasure. Or was the cumulative treasure handed down. The history chiseled into each possession by the value of the combined ownership and story that was ceremonially passed as the piece was passed palm to palm.

Paul never intended to die. He saw this challenge of illness as a dedicated solitary journey that he had taken on and would be on. Like his morning cycle ride the 10 miles to the top of the mountain. Peddle after peddle he focused on the momentary effort. If it was a test in strength, focus or effort alone, there was no mountain that Paul could not climb. Except the feat was not accomplished by any of those efforts, it was too late whe he realised that he would never reach the saddle of this uphill struggle. He really really was loosing control and at the same time loosing his life.

It would be too much for any man to sit back and write the story of his life and possessions. Because of Paul's meticulous nature this would have been an art form. Each item would have been sketched, referenced & logged. I say this not because he was obsessive by nature. But because everything he possessed was meaningful. His home more like a museum, the environment itself an introduction to a mind you want to know more about.