My Jewelry Box

A journey through the past

Recently, when I was getting ready for a luncheon, I was looking for a particular pair of earrings. Its mate was nowhere to be found. Frustrated, I settled into the hunt through the jewelry box. I was determined I'd wear them. Little did I know, I wasn't just searching for an earring but embarking on a journey through my past.

The amber heart ring first caught my eye, with its warm radiating memories of scraped knees (Ouch!), the candy dispenser in the school hallway where my favorite red hots and jawbreakers were waiting for my coins, and morning Mass before the school bell rang. This was my first ring, now with a worn and broken band. My glance next took me to a ring with a small gold rose with a tiny sparkling diamond chip center that accompanied me through high school dances, band practice, and more. Even though it was merely a chip, it was my first diamond, a Christmas present from Mom and Dad during my eighth-grade year.

That family trip in 1967 was my last summer of freedom before I started working. Dad drove Mom and me out west, and I returned with the Colorado goldstone ring. We traveled to Denver to spend time with my sis and her husband, climbed rocks in the Garden of Gods, ate at Luby’s Cafeteria, and purchased what became my favorite navy blue small ribbed corduroy jacket in one of the stores in Estes Park. The blazer is long gone, even though I held onto it longer than its life span, but I still have the ring.

My brother John always made presents for Christmas. Every year, I looked forward to his gift. One year, it was a Humpty Dumpty beanbag toy—I'm not sure if that was a message or not for me, but I loved it. The insulator candle holders were a hit, and my favorite of his gifts was the dime earrings. Johnny pounded two dimes, punched holes, and then added ear wires. Pretty unique and so sweet! Here they are, minus the ear wires.

There were also items here that didn't belong to me and had their own history. I found one of Mom's watches and great grandma’s locket, which, when opened, displayed pictures of Grandma and her sister. Also among these mementos was Dad's wristband from working at Republic Aviation in Evansville. This plant opened in 1942 during World War II, building primarily the P-47 Thunderbolt fighter planes. Dad was responsible for installing the radios in the aircraft.

Beyond family heirlooms, treasures from friendships emerged. The wedding necklace and earrings Barbara crafted to match my non-traditional peach wedding attire were nestled near the pearl and rose earrings worn for the previous ill-fated marriage. I see her creativity in other pieces she's given me over the years.

The solo journey to Cancun on the first anniversary of my second divorce was encapsulated in the gentle whispers of the turquoise bracelet given to me by a new acquaintance. Memories of that trip came flooding out: Shopping in the village where tequila was offered as customers walked in, eating authentic Mexican cuisine, hiking, and attempting windsurfing. Next to it is the delicate Yugoslavian pendant I had long forgotten about, which echoed my passion for connection to far lands through the written word.

The sterling silver black enamel Siam goddess dancer fan pin was Larry's, a friend who attended one of my “Big Chill“ parties in the 80s. I must have been drooling over it because he asked,  “You like it? It’s yours.” Without hesitation, he pinned it to my jacket. I can see Larry dancing as music blared in my small, cluttered house, the first one I owned on my own and which hosted many parties and my independence.

I can't leave out the memories of jewelry I made, including the bracelet and cuffs using my sun-printed and other printed fabric, a pendant made in Theresa’s class at the local library, and a bracelet I crafted at a Berea Learnshop.

I also included my ID bracelet from long ago. Why were they so popular? Did we really need our name on our wrist?

The earring hunt was long forgotten, replaced by a tapestry of laughter, love, and loss woven through decades of jewelry.

Returning to the present, I realized the treasure wasn't the missing earring, which I never found, but the stories each piece held. With a smile, I closed the box. Memories of these treasures were enough to make that day even better than it started out.

There are so many stories to be told. Above were abbreviated stories of just a few lying there. If you wonder what you can write about, just look around. Check out a drawer, the closet, or even your jewelry box, where you will find many stories waiting for you to spill out onto the page.