They all have memories for me. The pistachio shells remind me of the winter night we all went into Milan and wandered around, Brandon hounding us for a snack until we stopped at a kiosk and bought the pistachios. Then, what to do with the shells… We would collect them up in pockets as we walked around and then drop them in a trash can. Apparently I forgot a few, lingering in my pocket. In my pocket they will stay.
The Metro tickets may have been from the same night, or some other time. We used the Metro all the time when we wanted to go into Milan. The tickets were stuck everywhere… they became bookmarks and notes. My son has piles of them saved up. I have two in my coat pocket now. Where I slip my hand in and remind myself I lived in Italy for a while.
The British penny must be from my visit to London last winter, where I met up with my fellow muse Kirstin and had a fabulous weekend wandering around with my camera. What a joy that was, to connect with her and her family in person. I’ll keep that memory safely tucked away in my pocket too.
We find our lives are filled with these little memories, tucked away to be discovered again and again or in plain sight to remind us often. Our house is a veritable story book, the items “before Italy” and “from Italy” blending in to this “after Italy.” The physical space we live in has changed as we shift the elements in our lives to encompass our experience. My style of clothes has changed. My photographs have changed. It’s all a reflection of the personal changes that living abroad has brought. They are the concrete reminders that we did live in Italy. Our time there was real.
If it weren’t for the contents of my pocket, I’m not sure I would believe it anymore.