Any souvenir trinkets must be small. A small carry-on is packed neatly with a tight rotation to accommodate a lengthy stay.
None of those antique books, portfolio -$sized for ancient maps and printed illustrations. A wonder, iPad shots of these and the invigorating works of artists in galleries and on the streets suffice nicely. Â My hotel is in the university district with many programs of study with art foremost.
The small tokens acquired for a lovely daughter are versions of those my father brought home from his numerous Mediterranean cruises.
A silver  filigree box like the large butterfly for my mother, now a centerpiece in my collection.
A scarf from an outlet on a street of sophisticated cashmere shops near the ducal palace.  In charge, two lovely sisters who create unique hand -colored and hand -stitched designs on wool and wonder why America won’t receive those with true fleece incorporated.  They offer travel advice and I promise to return for their company and stories. A third sister who occupies herself with cell phone games was an infant model to help them launch.  Their wool is  more fine but no more stylish than the wool knit outfits Dad purchased for my mother.  Now in my sewing basket destined for a creative repurpose.
My subconscious has been  following well-traveled paths that recall home, my parents, and the mysteries of the Mediterranean.
