Howl at the moon

Let's not even beat around the bush, here. I am enormously sentimental. Nearly every item in my possession has a story behind it, a memory attached, or I can tell you exactly who gave it to me or where it came from or who it belonged to before I got it.

This both exasperates my husband, and charms him.

When we decided to move to New York, Mike insisted that we seriously trim down our belongings. And I agreed with him, I knew it was what needed to happen, but it was just excruciating for me. I'm not a pack-rat. No, no, I'm really not. I have no problem tossing clothes I've lost interest in, I love recycling soda cans and newspapers, I'm great about tossing useless crap that means nothing to me. But if my mother gave it to me? Or if it used to belong to my father? Or a brother? Or my sister snagged it on sale, decided she hated it before she ever used/wore it and sent it my way? I WILL KEEP IT FOREVER. If I have a memory of where I got it or if it reminds me of an old friend, I WILL KEEP IT FOREVER. It's terrible. I have trouble deleting nice text messages and sweet voice mails. Thank GOD for Gmail - now I can archive all my emails instead of going through the painful daily task of deciding which ones to "save" and which to "delete". I remember feeling physically ill when I dropped a box of old vacation souvenirs at the Good Will. I mean, these were things like a glass jar I bought in Amish Country in the 8th grade and ... I can't even remember what else was in the box. That's my point. There was nothing so terribly important that I remember it to this day. But I still feel sick when I think about it.

This is something I will never willingly part with. Not ever. Except maybe to let my daughter wear it, maybe, if she's really super responsible and awesome. Maybe. I've had this necklace since I was fourteen. My mom bought it for me on a trip to Arizona the summer between 8th and 9th grade.

I was never the kind of teenager who thought it was lame to spend time with my family. Of course there were times when I wanted to be with my friends more, but mostly I really valued spending quality time with family. Even though I often acted like a snotty little shit-head. That was just the hormones. Anyway, so we went to Arizona and for my dad it was business, but for my mom and me it was Special Girl Time. Which meant visiting over breakfast and then spending the late morning shopping and the afternoon reading and drawing or painting or playing with beads. Then we'd fix dinner (because we always rented condos when we went on trips, hotels are for people who don't like to cook) and Papa would come home from his day of meetings and we'd tell each other the best part of our days and then we'd watch the sunset, practice yoga, meditate and chant thanks for our blessings. I loved, loved, loved these business trips.

(Is it annoying? Is it annoying that I had such an idyllic childhood? We listened to Enya a lot, too. And native ethnic tribal music. And sometimes we had drum circles and jam sessions. Just thought you'd want to know that. You're annoyed, aren't you. If it's any consolation, plenty of crazy, messed up things happened too. I just choose not to focus on them.)

On this particular trip my mom and I spent a lot of time in bead shops, and she encouraged me to pick out my favorite of the beautiful beads so that I could make necklaces and bracelets for my girl friends. The shop was run by a Native American artist, and he had several pieces of jewelry he'd made available for purchase. I think it was my mom who spotted this necklace first, but as soon as she pointed it out, I was in love. That smooth piece of turquoise is breathtaking. And who doesn't think shark teeth are cool? I love the delicate, hand-braided silver on the edge. I think the craftsmanship and skill are wonderful, but mostly I love that I have to look twice before I see the coyote there, his proud face basking under Mother Moon.

And then, of course, I love this necklace because when I hold it in my hand, I am once again standing in that little sun-lit shop on that hot summer afternoon, watching my mother's face bent over the dusty trays of beads, feeling like the luckiest kid in the world.

07/11/09