Souvenir

Most people looking at this picture would see a small plastic cup and spoon.  And that's what it is.  A racquetball probably would not fit in the cup.  It's small.  And it is plastic.  And there's a tiny spoon with it.

When we were in Italy I didn't buy any souvenirs.  An ornamented ceramic mask would not mean anything to me.  The pictures we took are much better (to me) than any postcard or painting or statuette.  What I did do was snatch my family's gelato cups out of their hands before they could throw them in the trash.

THAT.  That right there is a souvenir.  To me.  It takes me back.  I see delicious ice cream, savored during conversations with people I love in places I never thought I would be.  I see stacks of the different colored bowls turned upside-down on counter tops in gelato shops.  I remember dreaming of one filled with a smooth delicious treat as we wandered, stomachs growling but eyes feasting, through Venice in search of "Quanto Basta" pizzeria. I can almost feel the wet-wipe in my hand after cleaning off Spencer's hands and face in Murano and Budoia (how romantic!).

It's just a small plastic cup and spoon, but it happens to be my favorite little cup and spoon in the world.

I'll post a bit about our trip soon enough.