I’m incredibly nostalgic about that basket, because when I was little, my mother had that very basket. I know it was that basket because I have done the work, I’ve looked at as many pictures as available to me as possible. Trust me, it’s my mother’s basket. I can feel its weight and the handle in my hand. It was made, I believe, of bamboo strips that had a glossy kind of finish. Apparently, my mother had lost the cover, I never saw it.
I have no recollection of knowing, when I was young, where our basket might have come from. To this day, I have no idea. It most likely came with my mother when we relocated to the United States when I was young, but I can’t say for sure. Perhaps she bought it in some exotic port as we traveled by a ship from Australia. Maybe it was imported from France, from Bali, from Greece? No idea. What I do know is that my mother didn’t use the basket as a purse (although I wouldn’t have put it past her; she was a bit exotic, too). For us, it was just a basket we used for the market, for picnics, or to store things in. Whatever happened to it? I don’t know, but I would do anything to have it back!