Instead of writing about our recent Florida trip*, I’m writing about jewelry. I love jewelry and have lots of it. I like it because I don’t have to try it on in a tiny room with ugly mirrors, and it lasts forever.
Two special items:
On New Year’s Eve, 2000, my husband and I were in a nasty traffic accident when a guy in a pickup ran a red light, totaling my car and sending us to the emergency room, where we greeted the new millennium on adjoining gurneys. Released in the wee hours of New Year’s Day, we had to wait hours for a taxi (in retrospect we should have called a friend or relative to pick us up). When I slid across the taxi seat, I found this pinky ring, and considered it a talisman of survival. It’s a trifle loose and I’ve lost it several times but it’s always turned up again.
Last November I lost it in my car while negotiating a twisty driveway. I knew it had to be in the car but could never find it, even after thorough vacuuming and searching through the vacuum bag. I had given it up for lost this time.
Getting into the car at a grocery store in Florida, I thought I must have lost an earring when I saw something metallic on the mat. I was flabbergasted when I picked it up. After all those months it was shaken loose from whatever crevice held it.
The main reason for the Florida trip was to see my sister Pat, my cousin Kay, and members of her family who were visiting my sister and brother-in-law from England.
Our grandmother came from Whitby, and I love visiting there, especially looking at the beautiful jet jewelry in the shops. Kay brought me this necklace, a sweet reminder of her, of Whitby, and of our Gran.
* The visit to the relatives was wonderful and we laughed a lot. I like to think someday I’ll also laugh about the rest of it, but for now I’m still trying to recover from the heat, humidity, mosquitoes, crowds, illness (severe sinus headaches) and Disney World with an eight-year-old. It falls into the category of “a supposedly fun thing I’ll never do again” (thank you, David Foster Wallace), or “what was I thinking?” or, simply, “just shoot me.”
OK, so I wrote about the trip after all.