Meminisse

I often collect reminders of the places I've been — it's a habit I just can't seem to give up. When I walk in the woods, or along the water, I'll pick up interesting and beautiful rocks, or shells, or acorn crowns, or pine cones, or whatever else catches my eye (and will fit in my pocket). Some of these collect on a shelf in my office, or in a small container in the recesses of my desk. Others remain hidden in coat pockets, to be rediscovered when the seasons change, because I really can't think of anything better to do with them.

I have several inches of purple ribbon in one of the pockets of a winter coat. It means absolutely nothing to anyone else but m — I'm not even sure I could explain why I've saved it. I also have a plastic egg of iridescent purple Silly Putty in that same pocket, along with a polished stone (I can no longer remember where it came from, or why I have it).

And there are letters and notes. Tickets. Bookmarks. Scraps of paper. Many of these seem to come to rest in my wallet.

I have a small yellow Post-It Note, with the handwriting of a friend. It's just the sort of memento I would compulsively save — yet I was surprised at my initial impulse to throw it away. It seems innocuous, and offers only the slightest hint of it's circumstances, though it would be far better if kept out of sight. In the end, I couldn't bring myself not to save it.