My Great-grandmother was a painter.

She picked it up late in life, but she produced dozens and dozens of oil paintings once she

hit her stride.

They're mostly still life studies in landscapes.

They're not Dutch masters by any stretch of the imagination, but to our family they're

precious.

They connect us to her.

Because of this, those paintings have become a centerpiece of her extended family.

Generation after generation now makes room on their walls for as many of these framed

treasures as they can acquire.

People have a way of becoming attached to things.

Maybe it's the long journey these objects accompany us on through our lives, or perhaps

it's due to the feelings they could invoke when we see them and touch them.

Or maybe deep down, we understand that even though our lives might be fleeting and temporary,

these things, these objects we grow to love and revere, seem to live on after we're

gone.

This habit of attributing personality and emotion to our possessions is something known

as anthropomorphism.

We give human characteristics to things that are far from human.

When people name their cars and talk to them like an old friend, others will say that

their house has a lot of nervous energy.

They don't, but at the same time they do.

...