Ukrainian Stuff

By Volodymyr Kish

ne of my all time favourite comedians was George Carlin who passed away last year after a lifetime of poking fun at contemporary society and human behaviour.  Actually, poking fun probably falls far short of describing his wickedly, acerbic style that usually packed the wallop of a satirical hurricane.

One routine I remember in particular was the one wherein he took to task the human predilection to collect “stuff”.  We spend a good chunk of our lives acquiring “stuff”, and then keep buying ever bigger houses to put the “stuff” in.  As he observed, our houses are merely “a pile of stuff with a cover on it”.

I too, have acquired a lot of “stuff” during my lifetime, and have kept buying bigger houses to put it in.  It was only with my latest move, when for the first time I bought a house smaller than the one I had before, that the proverbial chickens came home to roost.

Over the past year, it has become painfully obvious that I have too much “stuff”. 

The stuff necessary for daily existence – furniture, clothes, appliances, entertainment devices, computers, kitchen necessities, art, decorations and the like now amply fill up the various rooms of my house.  However, a good chunk of my basement and crawl space is overflowing with boxes and cartons of “stuff” that I don’t know what to do with.  There are many boxes of books, that though I likely may not ever read again, I have a hard time parting with.  There also many boxes of old files and paperwork that I probably really don’t need, but I don’t have the time to sort through in case there are some important documents buried there, or maybe they may come in useful when and if I eventually decide to write my memoirs.

And of course, there is a lot of Ukrainian “stuff”.  As many of you know, I had the good fortune of living twice in Ukraine, once for two years shortly after Ukraine became independent, and more recently for three years starting in 2004 while managing a Canadian foreign aid program.  During these two sojourns in the land of my ancestors, I acquired a lot of stuff.  Much of it was art, pottery and artefacts of folkloric or cultural value that I bought in the early nineties when the like could be purchased at bargain prices. There were also all those Ukrainian books I picked up, some of which I have read (slowly, I might add), and many more that I intend to read some day when I have time.

One of the things that I took to collecting while living in Ukraine was bulavas, the ceremonial maces of the Kozak atamans. I have some thirty of these – mostly wooden ones, but also some real metal ones as well as some made of glass. I also have a goodly assortment of Hutsul ceramics, carved wooden plates of various sizes, lots of Ukrainian pottery, countless pieces of embroidery, and many, many paintings of various styles and sizes.  Some of these I currently have on display in our house; however, sadly, I have many more of these items than I have the facility to display.  So, for the main part, they sit packed away in boxes and cartons in my crawl space.

Even more problematic is the fact that there was a lot of other stuff that was given to me by my countless cousins and other relatives in Ukraine as gifts or in gratitude for all the help that my family had rendered to them during the Soviet years and the turmoil that followed independence.  Although these gifts have some sentimental value, they are not particularly of any tangible aesthetic or artistic merit, and I would like to dispose of them, but have guilt feelings about doing so. 

Aside from the immediate difficulties this collection of Ukrainian stuff is causing me, there is also a longer term consideration.  Although these things I have collected mean a lot to me and my wife, I have come to realize that my children don’t necessarily share the same appreciation for these personal treasures.  What will become of this personal Kish museum of Ukrainian art and artefacts when we are gone?  I would hate to see them disappear or be disposed of arbitrarily at estate sale prices.

I love my stuff, no doubt more than anyone else ever will.  I will have to put some thought to giving my stuff a good home after I am gone.