The refrigerator repair man is coming this morning and I'm bracing myself for the trauma of having to buy a new fridge. It's not just the cost but the massive redecoration.
Our fridge is a global collage, postcards overlapping in such scenic profusion that sometimes I just stand and stare (and don't even bother opening the door). There are photos of friends and family ("Jim Swick for Surrogate"), but most of the images (a few attached by luggage magnets) are mementos of trips from the past decade.
There are traditional postcards (Venice, the Canal du Midi), nostalgic black-and-white ones (Vilnius, the Bristol Hotel in Warsaw), a few group shots (farm workers in Cuba, Mayan girls in Merida, masked revelers in Ecuador). There is an animal section heavy on porkers (Iowa, Arkansas) but with illustrated exotica like kangaroos and kualas (Australia).
The illustrated cards are my favorites, vintage travel posters reduced to postcard size: Napier, New Zealand; Bern, Switzerland; San Sebastian, Spain; Frisco (with beams shooting from the top of the Ferry Building tower); Acadia National Park. There are four classic Holland America cards, one in Dutch, sent by a friend in Amsterdam.
And there are two cards of paintings: one, which I bought in Brussels, shows well-dressed people sitting at a cafe; the other is of a man walking with purpose over the hills outside Dubrovnik (Ragusa). I bought it in October of 2000 and still remember what I wrote on the back: "Your humble travel writer in pursuit of his story."
