Mom is Just a Nickname

I’ve gotten some teasing in the past for the souvenirs I choose when on special trips.  Mainly from the days when I was in my senior year of high school, or just after.

For Senior Spring Break, I went to Ocean City, MD with my good friend Ellen and her mom.  We had a blast, despite the chilly, overcast days.  I fell in love all over again with the sounds of Elton John, Live with the Sydney Symphony Orchestra, after playing the album with the ocean waves in the background.  We played video games, pool, we poked around what shops were open in that pre-season period.  I considered different tshirts, I considered magnets, postcards, etc.  You know, standard tourist souvenir crap.

I ended buying a blanket.  It was one of those Mexican sarape type blankets which were all the rage with the beach going types then (as I recall).  It was pink, baby blue, and white.  It was rough and scratchy.  I loved it.  And then I hated it (because it was scratchy).  I tucked it into my things, taking it with me when I went off to college…taking it with me when I moved to Ohio.  It mostly lives in my car now, ready to pull out should we decide to picnic or if someone gets cold while we’re driving.  It has been through the wash so often after 12-13 years of use that it is soft and snuggly now.  It is better now than it was when I bought it and each time I touch it, I remember the sounds of Tiny Dancer playing with the ocean waves crashing in the background. I remember the fun conversations Ellen and I had, and what a great time I had with her and her mom.  How lucky I was that my parents let me take that trip away from home for a week.

Not too long after that, I went to Britain for 5 weeks with my brother.  I wanted to take everything home with me, to keep forever the adventures Tom and I found.  Of course, I couldn’t. I didn’t want any of the touristy junk to take home from Britain either.  Who needs that stuff? No, one cold day in Scotland, I bought myself a fuzzy fleece sweater…nothing particularly special to Scotland.  And i got it about 4 sizes too large.  It was soft and snuggly right from the start, and again, I loved it.  My brother hated it. He often told me it was the ugliest thing he’d ever seen. True, it was a dull green color…like overcooked asparagus.   Through my college days, I wore that sweater when I was feeling down or sick.  It was like wrapping a bit of comfort around myself.  I remembered the Highlands, with their cold breezes and hanging fog; the sheep, the streams, the burning fire of the whisky.  Putting that sweater on brought it all back.
I still have it, still wear it often, and it’s better than ever (now that I’ve repaired the button that was missing for years and years!).  It is no longer too big for me, it fits just right.  (Well, this makes me kind of sad. I wish it was still too big!)  But I’m delighted that I can still wrap its warmth around me on those cold, gray days, which are never as pretty here at home as they were in the HIghlands of Scotland.

I may choose weird souvenirs, but I choose things that stay with me.  They may look like junk to someone else, with no sentimental value because they don’t scream where they came from, but to me they carry the memories of wonderful times and transformational trips.  And so many of the things in my home carry similar memories, whether they were a special gift commemorating our marriage, or we dug them out of a dumpster at Goodwill….oh. I wasn’t supposed to mention that, was I? Memories aren’t always Kodak moments!

This entry was posted on Sunday, November 30th, 2008 at 2:42 pm and is filed under memories. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.