My (our) mom was an artistic unconventional soul. She enjoyed painting, writing short stories (some of them rather good) and traveling. One particular item she had that I remember very clearly from my childhood was a serving tray with a picture of Santa Maria del Salute in Venice. Of course, I didn’t know at the time what was pictured. I always loved that tray and as a child had no idea that one day I would visit Venice for myself.
In the late 80’s my partner, Kevin and I were using up my air miles and took a trip around Europe by car. Of course, upon reaching Venice we had to leave our car on the mainland and take a vaporetto to the city. I’m sure most of you know that it is something like a boat bus and much cheaper than a gondola.
It was April and the weather that met us on that trip went from warm and sunny to frosty. When we left Palm Springs, my neighbour went out to cool the car down before taking us to the airport. Later in the Alps, we encountered a snow storm and a flat tire…that’s another story all together involving a French phrase book and my limited knowledge of French. Don’t make fun of me. How many of you apart from Diane can say in French, “I have a flat tire?”
We arrived in Venice and found our rather basic hotel. I don’t remember a lot about our experience there with the exception of visiting St. Mark’s square and seeing replicas of the four bronze horses while wearing a long rain coat and a beautiful hand-woven shawl wrapped around my head. I felt quite elegant if damp.
The sky was cloudy and the air cool but this was before the ‘acqua alta’ and the invasion of tourists so we were able to walk around the city unimpeded. We walked a lot and enjoyed every minute of it. The city is a maze so it’s not surprising that we were often ‘lost’ for a while.
The best most memorable to me was coming upon, from a distance, the view of Santa Maria del Salute just as it was pictured on my Mom’s tray. It lifted my heart.
I just discovered that you can buy an acrylic version of my mom’s tray on amazon.com for $69.99 plus $24.99 shipping (US $$). Pretty sure my mom didn’t pay anything close to that for her wooden and glass version.
P.S. I am not recommending this or shilling for Amazon.
I also remember that tray. It was always there, like the rhubarb in front of our house on McConnell Rd. I remember that Mum used that rhubarb in baking pies. But I don’t recall ever asking myself how it got there. Or where the tray came from. Or what was actually pictured on the tray. Now I know.
I’m pretty sure I didn’t know what the picture was of until I saw it in Venice. Love rhubarb pie. Wonder where I could find some rhubarb.
This is a lovely story. It reminds me of the special things I have around me that remind me of my past, things that no one else will ever know about. For instance the china doll head I inherited through my mom and her Aunt Laura. Or my Grandma Kay’s ring found in her jewelry box, although no one remembers how it came to her. And the music box doll that played Lara’s theme. It is broken now, but I remember how thrilled I was when my mother gave it to me for Christmas one year, after I had seen Dr. Zhivago. Also of course are the quilts that i made and gave to people who subsequently died, or the sweatshirt with the picture of my father conducting a bunch of wild children with instruments. No one else will ever feel the same way, but they are my artifacts for the future
My comment on a comment, for Morgan. That is very poignant! The hidden or disappeared stories that go with objects. For some things, it is never just the object, but where it came from, who used to have it or who gave it to us, or provenance as I think they say on Antiques Road Show. Every object I keep that I really value has that kind of emotional or relational provenance. Yes, what becomes of the quilts you put all that energy into sewing for your family members who are gone? I had to get rid of a wool throw that one of my grandmothers had knitted in the twenties or thirties. The moths had decimated it badly, but it still felt like severing a link with a person I loved in the past. On the other hand, my brother-in-law, the psychologist, asked my sister at one point why she was keeping Dad’s winter jacket in her coat closet. She admitted that it was hard to part with something that reminded her so much of him. “What do you think he would have liked you to do with it?” he asked her. She got it right away. “He’d had have wanted me to give it to someone on the street to keep them warm.”