Bling is Life, and Life is Bling

When you're alone a lot you get fixated, but it's very interesting, the folds of a fixation. These are my favorite earrings, natural brown pearls that blush red (rare), and their color and proportions go well with any type of clothing, and I like the white-gold bead caps and white-gold shepherd's hooks. The rich difference between white gold (gold plus palladium) and sterling silver became obvious after I traveled with a woman whose peacock pearls on white-gold hooks had a distinctive glint of quality that said so much about her classiness, her priorities, her affection for and care of herself. It's in the details. So when I could, I got my own pair and was delighted -- one of those purchases you later realize was a grant from the shopping gods (like the black silk skirt I wore for seven years and no matter what size I was it fit me) and gives terrific joy.

Then I lost them. At the mammogram center we women must cozy up, shoulder, neck and ear, to the squash machine and even my dangling pearls got in the way so I took care to remove them and put them in a small ziploc bag and stowed them deep inside my summer purse, or thought I did. Days later at home I looked in vain for my pearl earrings. I phoned the mammogram center which called back in the middle of an important meeting but for the first time in life I took the cellphone call (because a return call from a medical center is rare) and asked if they'd found a pair of brown pearl earrings with white-gold shepherd hooks, and they had not. And I thought, of course. Finders keepers with anything that classic and wearable.

The purse's patent-leather trim was cracking and shabby so after the last of many obsessive searches through the purse I tossed it and had since wondered if the pearl earrings were somehow in it and I just hadn't smoked them out. In that case they were gone forever.

I ordered another pair from the same company in Thailand and received two black pearls without any gloss or glow, like old bowling balls or shoe soles -- but kept them for their white gold hooks, hoping someday I'd find pearls like the first ones to hang on them. Then I ordered coffee-brown Swarovski (glass) pearl earrings on silver hooks, and they are nice but without that caress of red that made all the difference to my coloring, as if the lord of chic had selected them for me. And slowly, with many pangs, I gave up my fixation. They were lost.

I use as my two "jewelry boxes" those plastic shells that salads come in; one is for gold-tone metals and the other silver-toned. (Every normal woman over 50 will have amassed a cool-earring collection.) The other day I dumped out the container of gold-tone metal earrings and saw the little bag with my prodigal pearl earrings in it. In haste I'd mis-filed the gold under silver, and it hadn't occurred to me to look there.

Very pleased to have them back. I deserve this fine good luck, especially in the dead of winter when it feels sometimes as if one's earrings are close and fond companions.

Idiot's Delight

On a garage-sale safari I saw dozens of woven baskets going for a dime or free. It used to be that tins, such as Christmas fruitcake tins, were the get-rid-of-clutter item one couldn’t even give away. Now it’s baskets. Saw some nice ones but did not purchase because I had one, and I’m determined to use what I have. Formerly an Easter basket—you know how baskets tend to persist in a house or garage—this is my herb-and-mushroom-gathering basket. Not very big or deep, it keeps me from harvesting more than I can use.

 

At first I carried the scissors in a pocket, then more safely in a fanny pack, and then in the basket itself because reaching around and unzipping the pack was cumbersome. But I lost them from the basket within a few minutes, and only their bright-pink handles allowed me to locate it in the forest floor. They're useful also for when I leave them in the planter, distracted by a swallowtail butterfly or the propane truck or some such.

Remember idiot mittens that were strung together? Well, this red ribbon is an idiot solution to lost scissors. I’d hate to lose even these cheap scissors because I want to use what I have.

I Sold A Diamond

I hated to sell, but I sold my diamond today, plus a few rings and things I liked but did not love, or that were broken. In return I received not thirty pieces of silver but $734 for the lot.

I knew this diamond for six years. It was .47 carats, grade SI1, color G, a solitaire set in 14K yellow gold, and my first and only diamond. Geologists say that the youngest diamonds are 20 million years old. So I had a very old and radiant companion. Whether it was wise I don't know. Unlike other gems I have known, this one was deaf and mute. It did not wink at me, or reveal its secret name. It was beauty and constancy incarnate, and absolutely nothing else.

My homework revealed that 24K gold is presently at an insane record-busting price high (this is technically called "price ecstasy") of close to $1000 per ounce. (You will of course get much less for 14K gold, which is 53 percent pure gold, the rest other metals). A diamond of like quality goes for about $850 wholesale, and an honest jeweler who is buying will give you perhaps 60 percent of that. The first jeweler I consulted offered me $250 for the lot. I left him staring at my afterimage, I fled so fast!

Now my stone will bring happiness and beauty to others -- for generations. It will exist until this planet is a cinder. I was a short interlude in its life. And as lovely as it was, it is just a material thing, after all. All is vanity and striving after wind.