shells

I'm enjoying my week of iPhone images ... Today, shells.  And memories.  Or rather, complete lack of memories.  I was tidying out my drawers in the bathroom - a very satisfying thing to do, in between various bits of endless admin - and a very overdue task.  But I have simply no idea where these shells may have come from.  Oregon?  Jamaica?  Mexico?  The Jersey Shore, even?  One location or several?  I'm quite sure that when I gathered them up I thought that they were not only pretty, but they'd retain memories, but no.  I'm sure I could have annotated them - like the collection, long ago, that I saw in a colleague's apartment in Berlin: he and his partner brought back soil or sand from everywhere they'd traveled to, and put it in a little bottle, and wrote a label with details of time and place - quite a geological cabinet-full, even then, and that must have been in the late 1990s.  All the same, I still very much appreciated their whorls and spirals and wave-smoothed edges.