Saturday was misty and wet here. I think all of us were sort of down in the dumps, but isn't it funny how something strange can brighten everything up?
We were walking down the Schermersstraat (that's the street the runs in front of the Terninckgang which is the alley we live on). I was consoling Jonas who was missing his grandmother when all of a sudden something on the sidewalk caught my eye. It looked familiar but seemed out of place. It took a couple of seconds for me to register what it was I was seeing.
It was a matchbook from Knott's Berry Farm. I know, I know, it seems a little (okay, a lot) silly. I picked it up and just sort of stared at it for a minute before I pushed it into my coat pocket. It reminded me of biscuits with boysenberry jam and that ridiculous old west town where you stand on the grave and feel a heart beating below your feet. It reminded me of how much my mother loves the greasy fried chicken there, and how much we all love her for loving it so much.
I have to wonder about how the matchbook made its way from Buena Park, California all the way to Antwerp, Belgium. I wonder if it traveled with an American staying here in Europe, or if it came with a European tourist. However it came, it was a joy for me to find it and pick it up and hide it in my coat pocket.