My grandmother's home is a paradoxical haven. From her fully remodeled kitchen with fresh granite countertops to her dusty liquor cabinet stocked with Crown Royal from 1958. There is no rhyme or reason to the rooms that demand updates and the mementos that are destined to stay (or go).

While parts of her house are a perfect time capsule — green shag rugs still intact — she is also known to rid her home of relics that bring back vivid childhood memories; my father's 5-year jacket from the summer camp he attended in 1975 is the foremost example. (Grandma is soon to be 87 and will never live that one down.)

Yet she has still been able to stash away her long-running matchbook collection and Varyer readers should be damn glad that she did…

From Chicago to Copenhagen, here are a few selections from the places she’s frequented over the years.