like pollen, hitch rides with unsuspecting vacationers. Having
brushed against a shelf of commemorative plastic schlock, many
travelers return home to find a schlock patch blossoming on a
previously empty shelf.
Zaleski's collection of several hundred keys-hanging hardware-store
style on carousel racks and tucked into a Chinese herb cabinet-began
innocently enough when he, like so many American fathers, took
his family on a Bicentennial pilgrimage to Williamsburg, Virginia.
There he purchased a large pewter key. "Later I found used,
old keys more interesting and also cheaper and more available
at antique malls and garage sales," says Zaleski, AM'68 (whose
guest bedroom, a.k.a., "The Lincoln Room," holds a hundred
or so likenesses of the log-cabin president). "My oldest
keys are from the first, second, and fifth centuries-at least
that's what the Portobello Market vendor in London indicated."
306 snow globes in the bedroom of Robin Simon, MBA'89, popped
up like so many mushrooms after a good long rain. She began collecting
the self-contained flurries at age 6 while touring the Statue
of Liberty with her grandmother. That first globe, which met its
fate as a "million pieces" on the sidewalk en route
to show-and-tell, was replaced during a fourth-grade school trip
to Washington, D.C. A charter subscriber to the quarterly newsletter
Snow Biz (which, Simon is dismayed to report, published
its last issue this summer), she now has domes from 20 countries
and every state but West Virginia and Arkansas. She sleeps in
water-globe pajamas, and her car bumper freely admits that "snow
dome collectors are a little flaky."
1989 Caryl Towsley Moy, AM'69, picked up the most evolved of souvenir
spore: the fond memory. On crutches with a broken foot during
a visit to the U.K., Moy made her way through The Olde Curiosity
Shoppe in London on a path cleared by a gracious shoppe-keep.
Her purchases that day were unremarkable-an antique sugar shaker,
a toast holder-but the shoppe became lodged in her unconscious.
Twelve years later it's rooted itself in her recreation room,
in the form of a porcelain miniature by the same name, the seed
of what she calls "my Village Museum"-250 small lighted
houses, shops, castles, banks, churches, and palaces, with miniature
people, animals, vehicles, and flowers. At the "mother"
of porcelain miniature conventions, held by manufacturer Department
56, she has received awards for her dioramae "Fall Flower
Festival," "Tourist Time in Old Guilin," and "Genevieve
Remembers: A Pioneer Childhood in Idaho" (the last based
on her mother's youth).
her husband celebrates her hobby, she says her sons just shake
their heads in disbelief. "The most common comment I hear,"
Moy notes, "is: 'I never would have believed it if I hadn't