Saturday, May 12, 2012

the pebbles

So, this past month my grandparents went on a trip to the beautiful Europe (sadly, they left me at home.) Before they left I remember sitting in their car, and my Poppa jokingly asked if there was anything that I wanted them to bring back from Italy.

"Perhaps a little pebble from every place we visit," was my Grandma's laughing suggestion.

I think it surprised them a little bit when I said yes. Actually, I didn't just say it...I was bouncing on the edge of my seat and everything, the whole package. The idea that I might be able to hold a little piece of a far-off world excited me.
Tiny chips of Rome and Venice cupped in the palms of my hands - who wouldn't find that exciting?

A wee lava rock from Mt. Vesuvius

So I waited eagerly as they traveled from Spain to Italy to Greece to Croatia (although perhaps not in that order), hoping that they hadn't forgotten me.
The idea of far away places has always excited me; I find new cultures, foods, sights and smells thrilling. When they finally did get back (safe and sound, for which I was very relieved. I don't trust airplanes) I was thrilled to hear that they had, in fact, not forgotten in the slightest. When they stopped by a few days after my birthday, they brought a piece (or pieces, to be more accurate) of the world back with them.

They hadn't just shoved the stones into the jar, though - my grandma had stuck little band-aids to each one with a penned number on the back. The numbers were written down on a slip of paper with more detail on the home of each individual rock.

Isn't that just the coolest thing?

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