365 True Things: 98/Souvenirs

I'm not a big souvenir buyer, but when I travel and I stumble on something pleasing, I will often bring it home as a memento of my trip.

This time, I bought two cobalt blue egg cups at Blaafarveverke, a former cobalt mine—a reminder not only of that stop on the road but, even more, of all the soft-boiled eggs we ate at all the marvelous Norwegian breakfast buffets (at which they provide special little cheap-plastic egg holders, that's how seriously they take their soft-boiled eggs). I also got a glass heart with cobalt patterning to add to my slowly growing collection of heart paperweights. Most of which I don't recall where they're from—they were just picked up here and there. Hopefully I'll remember where this one came from.

I also got a few books, to help me with my ongoing struggle with Norwegian (including two on grammar: there's something to be said for understanding the underlying structure of a language). Though the more I think about it, the more I realize I need an actual living-and-breathing person, a tutor who will bust me out of my reluctance to speak and my difficulty hearing what people are saying. Passively reading books isn't going to get me very far. Sadly.

And, although this is not strictly a souvenir (even less so than books are), whenever I go to Europe I bring home Mars bars—made with sugar and not corn syrup; they live in my freezer and provide me with sweet treats on days when I need a little something extra. As long as they hold out, they remind me of my most recent travels—and they make me happy. This trip, with our leftover kroner, I snagged five two-packs. They make the freezer seem, for a few months at least, like a treasure chest.

From the top: Sicily, Ladakh,
England, Jamaica, Turkey,
(a non-souvenir, but it fit the wall),
Japan, Tuscany, Soviet Union,
Zimbabwe

In our old house, we had a wall by the front door that was devoted to small souvenir knickknacks. We haven't yet dedicated a wall for that purpose in the new house, and we may not. Though looking at a picture of it now, I find the idea pleasing. So many good adventures we've had, and such interesting little objects. Maybe we can scatter them in those odd small-wall spaces. That could work.

But first, I need to get back to unpacking the boxes in the garage. I will probably be amazed at all the forgotten souvenirs and mementos I find there. That should be encouragement right there to get down to work. No?