There are more and more publications in USA and UK that are using nostalgia pieces – you can go to Google and find out which they are, and they are a wonderful market for freelancers, especially the older ones amongst us. This is a piece I had published a few months ago:
AMONG MY SOUVENIRS
By DVORA WAYSMAN
I never set out to be a collector. Whenever Ive read about millionaires with fabulous private collections
of art and sculpture, Ive thought why not just keep a few pieces you really love and give the rest on loan to a
museum or gallery so that others can share their beauty.
Yet I find now that I do have collections. Theyre not worth any money and probably no-one else would want
them. Most people in my age group have accumulated possessions they cant bear to part with, despite moving
homes and maybe even countries several times in their lives.
Who remembers that song of yesteryear: Among My Souvenirs? Part of the lyrics were:
Some letters tied with blue,
A photograph or two,
I find a rose from you
Among my souvenirs.
What we are really collecting are memories. There are times in our lives we want to hold on to forever and
when we handle these mementoes, they bring a smile to our lips, a tear to our eyes and a bittersweet wave of
I have more than a thousand books, and nowhere to put them all. Those that overflow my bookshelves are
stowed in cardboard cartons. Many are paperbacks, yellowed pages and tattered covers. But to throw them out
would be like disposing of dear friends. Lots of poetry some by almost-forgotten writers like Alice Duer
Miller, Rupert Brooke, A. E.Housman, Dorothy Parker. Old novels by Somerset Maugham, Evelyn Waugh, Hemingway, Steinbeck. . Books on philosophy, psychology, the craft of writing. They all represent my youth,
when I discovered the world and the wonders it contained. No, I cant throw them away!
Then there are the photos. They started out in albums, but now there are too many and Im too lazy. Beloved
family no longer with us . Friends of my youth. Weddings. Babies bright-eyed and dimpled. Rites of passage
first day at kindergarten and school; graduations. Grandchildren. Holidays. They are all cherished, and
overflow in drawers and cabinets.
Bric a brac. One earring (the other lost) given by your first boyfriend. Small childrens awkward drawings.
Their clumsy efforts at making you strange things from wood or papier mache. A challah cloth with crooked
stitches. A letter on a torn page that proclaims in shaky letters: , I love you. How could you ever toss those?
And now I also have a collection of shells and rocks. Most were gifts from grandchildren who wanted to give
me something in return for the toys I gave them. There is a pine cone and a curiously-shaped rock. Shells you
can put to your ear and hear the sea. And stones I gathered at the Dead Sea on my sisters last visit here, when
we spent a perfect day of peace and tranquility together, exchanging memories of our parents and siblings,
our childhood, the dreams we realized and the ones we lost along the way. All precious. All irreplaceable.
Get rid of the clutter were told. Not me. I shall go on collecting mementoes and memories until I die.
And I hope my children, even then, will save a few of them. Because some things are worth more than money!
I have managed to get hold of some copies of my books that were out of print …”The Pomegranate Pendant” is
now available again ; also In A Good Pasture and my book of poems Woman of Jerusalem. My e-book
“Autumn Blessing” can also be purchased on line – my contact details are available above on About Me; if
you are in touch I will arrange for you to get them.