On Souvenirs

One of the few joys of unpacking is slowly un-wrapping all the precious purchases one has made along the way. I’ve never been one to make major purchases while travelling, but my house is full of tchotchkes that were collected during a lifetime of moves and travels. Each one has a special meaning, and each one represents a particular place and feeling. Every time I make a small purchase, I remember being a child on our annual treks to Colorado Springs when we never had enough money to buy the trashy souvenirs offered by vendors along the way. In some small way, all of my purchases represent triumph over poverty.

It seems to be important to people to reinforce our memories with some sort of physical object. I wish I had been the one to invent the logo t-shirt. Our suitcases carried a few of those for ourselves and relatives. They make a perfect inexpensive touchstone. Since our return, I’ve started looking around the house and thinking of the time and place we acquired many of the “art” pieces that are scattered around. I’ve also started thinking of the ones that are missing because with each move we seem to have lost something: where is the Robin Anderson scarf from Nairobi? Where are the spears? Where is the Dwight family Bible? Where is the past?

Among my souvenirs of our Greek odyssey was a ceramic plate purchased from the young boy who “befriended” me in Istanbul on our first day there. He talked me into going back with him to his father’s shop where I purchased a beautiful, square ceramic plate. It was carefully wrapped in bubble paper and had been in the bottom of my suitcase since we departed Istanbul. While it wasn’t a major purchase, it was the most expensive thing I purchased on our trip. I carefully un-wrapped my prize purchase in Durango and was somewhat dismayed to find that it doesn’t go with any of the colors in my house. The small plate is full of vivid, red tulips with bright, green stems and a rich, blue border, quite the opposite of the warm, earth tones of the house. It reminds me that the Dutch originally stole tulips from the Turks (another bit of arcane history that inhabits my brain). What to do now? Hide it away somewhere? When I left the shop, the young man made me a gift of a silver ring with a large ceramic “stone.” It doesn’t appear to be “my style” but it’s becoming one of my favorites. Ah, memories.