I’m linking up with Amber, another Alabama girl – who now lives in Arkansas. Her writing voice is creamy and sweetly salted like grits, fresh boiled and buttered. Grits are my go to when I am cold or cringing about something…likewise, Amber’s words always warm to me life and living.
I have a jewelry box whose cavity is crammed with necklaces: heavy gold numbers, I never now wear and should probably hock, slender silver chains which once held this or that identifying icon. There are presents from children, symbols of lush love, and Nana’s pearls which my Dada purchased for her in Japan; they in every way represent security to me. I wear nearly none of them, without a specific reminder..and those too have quieted, as my girls have found fashion.
I have just one necklace which I nearly always wear. My choice of it is really about the fact that he, who bought it for me, got me right; he understood my essence. I am no demanding gal. The snobby girl I once was has thankfully been slain. I climb under tables and on desks to make connections in my computer lab/classroom now, not up social or corporate ladders.
One side of the necklace is gold, the other silver. It’s one of those slide deals. He added several stones: real, not fabricated. The stones are commoners, a particular people’s treasure: agate, turquoise, moon rock or onyx. It is solid and substantial, earthy and unpretentious, but beautiful. It holds up well as I wind between crowded chairs telling a people’s story or woo would be sojourners over obstacles of our world’s worry, too engrossed in our journey to protect my person or possession.
I love it as it speaks of what I hold dear, and what kind of treasures I see. He done good.