10/10/2026
My sister called me cold-hearted when I told her I was keeping Grandma's egg tray collection. 'She's been gone two years, Mom. Those dusty old things are just taking up space.' But she didn't understand - Grandma spent 40 years hunting these down at every flea market, estate sale, and antique shop within a hundred miles of Tulsa. Each tray had a story. The amber one she found on her 25th anniversary trip; the green depression glass set from the farmhouse where she grew up. That clear one with the flower etching? She'd haggle over it for 20 minutes with some dealer, then celebrate her victory with pie at the diner. Dad used to joke she loved those trays more than us kids. After she passed, I packed them in boxes, couldn't bear to display them, but couldn't let them go either. They sat in my basement, making me feel guilty every time I did laundry. Then, last month, feeling desperate, I posted in a vintage collectors group on the Tedooo app: 'What do I do with 47 egg trays that mean everything and nothing at the same time?' Someone responded: 'Maximalist wall gallery. Let them be as bold as your grandma was.' It took me all weekend, measuring, hammering, second-guessing every placement. When I stepped back, my dining room wall looked like Grandma had decorated it herself - unapologetic, quirky, impossible to ignore. My daughter walked in and gasped. 'Mom, it's perfect. It's so HER.' Now, every dinner party starts with someone asking about the wall. I get to tell them about the woman who taught me that collections don't have to make sense to anyone but you. I found myself browsing estate sales on the Tedooo app last week, looking for that one amber tray she never found. Maybe weird runs in the family after all.