All the good jewelry I have is from my late mother, who had exquisite taste. I rarely wear any of it anymore because I’m too afraid of losing or damaging the pieces I have left. Within the past 15 years, I’ve managed to lose a ring and a pendant. And I dropped a tiny opal earring in my closet almost 3 years ago. I still can’t find it. The medium I met with last fall confidently told me to look again in the back left corner. It’s not there.
I’ve never been able to resist making lists, and they’re getting more detailed and unorthodox by the week. I’m now writing notes to myself like: “e-mail dad about getting onto Pandora radio”; or “go to an early-morning breakfast at IHOP - alone.” A few months ago, I typed up a list of things I want to accomplish by the end of the year. Number 5 on this particular list is: “buy a stunning piece of pass-downable jewelry.” So far, no luck. All the jewelry I’ve bought for myself eventually turns out to be chintzy crap. I always keep my eyes open when I’m traveling or when I’m shopping in the city, but nothing ever looks grand enough. I’m not even totally sure what I’m looking for. It’s another one of those things that only my mom would know.