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The times they are a-changing: Today, just now, I bought myself a bracelet.
The jewelry counter at one of my favorite stores sits right inside the entrance, and so finding myself staring this morning at all the necklaces and rings, the glitzy earrings and the bracelets is not all that unusual. I’m hardwired for jewelry, and every time I walk by those displays, I am compelled to look.
In fact, I linger here so often that the staff knows what I like and will even say, Look, this one is you. Usually, they call it right on. They never call me by name. They don’t know it, but they do know that I’m a silver person-not gold, every once in a while, copper-and that there has to be something substantial, a little quirky, about the piece. No delicate, tiny cultured pearls. I want those large misshapen, glommy ones. But usually, it’s all about the metal, not about stones or gems.
This morning I caught sight of a cluster of bracelets—and swooped around, taking in every one of them, even though I had no intention of buying. Checking out the goods is a common practice for me.
Another thing of mine is, I wear bracelets, a lot of bracelets, but I never buy them. Most people don’t know that about me-well, you can't miss the bracelet part, but you’d be hard-pressed to know about the not-buying part.
My arm-load of bracelets are all gifts from people: friends and family of all persuasions. I still wear bracelets from the ex and the ex's grandfather. Great Gramp was a tiny old man who always wore suits and ties. His hands shook as he handed me the small, square, perfectly-wrapped box. The silver bracelet’s pattern is now worn from years of constant wear. No matter the status of the relationship, I know all of these people cared deeply for me at the time. And so when I catch sight of the pack of circles on my wrist, I am reminded of how much I am loved. You can’t get too much of knowing how much you’re loved.
Each of my bracelets has come unbidden. There's something intimate, like touch, about these hard metal things that jangle on my wrist, and jostle each other, too.
Bracelets came early to me. My first was gold with a stretch wristband and an amethyst, or amethyst-like, stone. It was a great-aunt's. Soon a boyfriend gave me a thin silver band. And then my mother, another. I wore them all together.
And so it began, this bracelet as love relationship: my children, my neighbor's son, a student, one of my daughter’s high school friends, my friends. Good thing it was bracelets: You can’t wear 24 earrings or necklaces, not 24 pairs of shoes or dresses-and for sure, not the same dresses all the time. Hell, I can’t even wear all the bracelets anymore: 24 really is about my limit at one time.
Today it's just me and a young woman, perhaps late teens, behind the jewelry counter. I have never seen her before. She doesn’t show me anything. I wander and return. I stare at the bracelets, and then I pick out a thin stretchy band, silver with gold bezels hugging three garnet, or garnet-like, stones. I buy it for myself. Love begins here, I think, as I slide the bracelet over my hand.
Annaliese Jakimides' work has been published in journals, magazines, and books in the U.S. and Europe, as well as broadcast on public radio. She has work forthcoming in two collections in 2007.
The jewelry counter at one of my favorite stores sits right inside the entrance, and so finding myself staring this morning at all the necklaces and rings, the glitzy earrings and the bracelets is not all that unusual. I’m hardwired for jewelry, and every time I walk by those displays, I am compelled to look.
In fact, I linger here so often that the staff knows what I like and will even say, Look, this one is you. Usually, they call it right on. They never call me by name. They don’t know it, but they do know that I’m a silver person-not gold, every once in a while, copper-and that there has to be something substantial, a little quirky, about the piece. No delicate, tiny cultured pearls. I want those large misshapen, glommy ones. But usually, it’s all about the metal, not about stones or gems.
This morning I caught sight of a cluster of bracelets—and swooped around, taking in every one of them, even though I had no intention of buying
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Another thing of mine is, I wear bracelets, a lot of bracelets, but I never buy them. Most people don’t know that about me-well, you can't miss the bracelet part, but you’d be hard-pressed to know about the not-buying part.
My arm-load of bracelets are all gifts from people: friends and family of all persuasions. I still wear bracelets from the ex and the ex's grandfather. Great Gramp was a tiny old man who always wore suits and ties. His hands shook as he handed me the small, square, perfectly-wrapped box. The silver bracelet’s pattern is now worn from years of constant wear. No matter the status of the relationship, I know all of these people cared deeply for me at the time. And so when I catch sight of the pack of circles on my wrist, I am reminded of how much I am loved. You can’t get too much of knowing how much you’re loved.
Each of my bracelets has come unbidden. There's something intimate, like touch, about these hard metal things that jangle on my wrist, and jostle each other, too.
Bracelets came early to me. My first was gold with a stretch wristband and an amethyst, or amethyst-like, stone. It was a great-aunt's. Soon a boyfriend gave me a thin silver band. And then my mother, another. I wore them all together.
And so it began, this bracelet as love relationship: my children, my neighbor's son, a student, one of my daughter’s high school friends, my friends. Good thing it was bracelets: You can’t wear 24 earrings or necklaces, not 24 pairs of shoes or dresses-and for sure, not the same dresses all the time. Hell, I can’t even wear all the bracelets anymore: 24 really is about my limit at one time.
Today it's just me and a young woman, perhaps late teens, behind the jewelry counter. I have never seen her before. She doesn’t show me anything. I wander and return. I stare at the bracelets, and then I pick out a thin stretchy band, silver with gold bezels hugging three garnet, or garnet-like, stones. I buy it for myself. Love begins here, I think, as I slide the bracelet over my hand.
Annaliese Jakimides' work has been published in journals, magazines, and books in the U.S. and Europe, as well as broadcast on public radio. She has work forthcoming in two collections in 2007.
