Another exciting day as a temp worker.
It's better than nothing.
A close up of my necklace.
I really love jewelry. It’s funny how I rarely wear it these days, mostly because I have so little of it available (most of it is in storage), but when it is readily available, I wear jewelry like it’s going out of style. I don’t really care what the value of the jewelry is, the two main concerns I have when it comes down to it are the emotional significance of the piece and how pretty I find it. For instance, the necklace above was a gift to me from a dear friend of mine who went to Ireland on an trip, and she brought me back that necklace. It wasn’t expensive, but I’ve always loved celtic knot jewelry and it means a lot to me because of where it came from and who bought it. Likewise, one of my other favorite necklaces is a handmade ankh out of what I believe is some kind of sculpey clay (it’s much lighter than normal clay) and bronze wire and such. It’s unique, and it was a present from my best friend, so it appeals to me on two levels.
I do have some expensive jewelry as well, and pieces that are dear to me mainly because they came from my parents. A pair of very dark sapphire earrings that my father gave me for Christmas several years ago (I take great care with them because they’re posts, and I’d be heartbroken if I lost them), for instance, are one of my favorite pairs of post earrings. I also have a beautiful amethyst and white gold necklace that my mother bought in the British Virgin Islands and gave me just before my senior recital in college, that I cherish. There’s also the necklace I got as a sweet 16 present, which my parents had planned for years beforehand, it was a single diamond pendant on a gold chain, which was one of the pair of the first diamond earrings my father ever bought my mother (she lost the other one a long time before). Ironically, my father gave that to me shortly after my parents separated, but that made it all the more dear to me.
To be honest, most of the lovely things in my life are pieces of art or literature that have a strong connection to people I love. Much of my furniture and trappings are old things from my mother’s house (my red armchair, especially, has housed three different dogs and now a cat). I have a whole bunch of lovely drawings that my best friend commissioned for me that are in storage at the moment, and which I plan to have framed for hanging someday (I dislike hanging pictures on walls via tape or sticky tack, they tend to get stained or battered that way). The things that I own that mean the most to me have memories attached to them. Even things like video games and movies, sometimes (Chrono Trigger always reminds me of my middle brother, as does Skies of Arcadia). Even mundane things, like a basket, or a shelf, can remind me of people and places that have been important in my life. My oldest brother and his wife donated a small shelf that they had no use for when I moved into my current apartment (since everything else went into storage with the bed bugs), and it became the platform for my swift and ball winder for yarn, as I had no other surfaces to clamp them to. I think of them whenever I wind yarn now. XD
My mom has decryed my lifestyle, because she thinks I’m too much of a packrat. And she has a point. But it’s difficult for me to let go of things when every one of them tells me a story. I remember them as gifts, as things I did with my family and friends, as things I spent hours listening to or playing or watching at a certain time in my life. My short term memory is sometimes sucky (I often forget to call or email people or do certain things), but in the long term I remember the things that count. I remember each doll box I’ve opened. I remember the best moments I’ve spent with friends in the past few years. I remember the smell of my favorite foods, especially how they smell better when someone else is cooking them.
It won’t mean much to anyone else after I’m gone, I’m sure, but while I’m here, every one of these things I own have memories for me, and I can’t just throw them away. It’d be like throwing away a piece of myself.
MirrorMe 