This week I feel like I am opening a beautiful gift. I am moving to Queen Anne on Thursday, saying goodbye to my lovely Wallingford, and waiting for a new season of life. Space is always a significant thing to me: my heart is very sensitive to the spot of earth that I inhabit. There is so much about my new home that thrills me: two dear friends from school (Stacy and Jeremy) will be living directly below me; I get to walk to school and I love walking; I get to explore the alleys and views and coffee shops of a new place; I get to enjoy long dreamed of hardwood floors; my apartment is on the 3rd floor so I can sleep a little more soundly and with the nighttime air drafting in from open windows; it is the least expensive apartment I have ever had.
(Now, if you are members of my family and read that last part, you are probably already worried about the quality of place I am renting. This is not unfounded, since 3 years ago I was renting my urban castle that almost made my father cry when he visited me. What I had seen as charming dilapidation, my father saw as a health risk. In fact, when my sisters visited me last weekend and began to ask for me to “talk about my new place” I was sure my father had planted the evaluative questions, so as to make sure that I would not be calling later and complaining about the rodents in my walls and leaking roofs and kitchen cabinets that succumbed randomly to gravity and fell to the floor. Shannon and Heather, please assure Dad that I will be safe and sound in my new home.)
I can’t wait to decorate my new place. I think I am growing a bit in my tastes: there will be fewer tassels and a bit more sophistication. Mind you, I will always enjoy a well–placed tassel. I hope to have lovely plants that soak in the sunlight of my marvelous windows, cozy rugs to lounge on, and nice splashes of merlot, espressos, and rich greens in the color scheme. I also hope to have many people whom I delight in stopping by and eating my food and reading books and sipping coffee and laughing together.
Sunday, June 24, 2007
Wednesday, June 20, 2007
Naked No Longer
I have always felt twinges of jealousy for the girl with the dangly earrings. I look from afar at silver hoops and funky beaded things and wish I somehow could pull it off for an evening out on the town. Better yet, are the girls who can pull off the jeans and a t-shirt in casual day ware- accented by the perfect earrings with just the right flair.
But alas, my lobes are always naked. I have gotten my ears pierced twice (at a young age) and my holes have closed twice, as I always seem to fail to follow the proper instructions the piercing parlor hands you on the way out the door. After failing twice, I would not allow myself a 3rd go, so I have been pining for decoration on my ears for quite some time. Since 7th grade, in fact- this was the last time I wore earrings before my second set of holes closed.
.
However in the past year, I have taken up clip-ons, which incidentally you cannot find in the stores these days. Instead, I have been going to antiques stores shopping for your grandma’s earrings, because back in WWII they indeed sported clip-ons. I thought I could revive the clip-on look, sort of pretend it was vintage and cool, but it hasn’t really worked out for me. Your grandmother’s earrings tend to be gold and bulbous, and simply do not achieve the sexy, gypsy look I had in mind. So, I was back to pining and looking from afar, realizing I would not be the girl with the whimsical jewelry hanging from her ears.
The reason I am sharing all this is because my friend Erica brought me back the most beautiful earrings from Bolivia, and I was rather distraught. I intended to put them in my drawer to keep company with the diamond earrings my father gave me for Christmas 2 years ago- which of course have also never been worn. But, then, a funny thing happened. On a whim, I decided to just see…how far would they go in those closed holes? What if I was aggressive? I was picturing swollen, bloody earlobes, but could not resist trying.
And the funny part is, both earrings slid right in my ears without any resistance. I mean I have thought for 13 years that my ears were closed. Why had I been believing all these years that I could not wear earrings? I can’t remember the time I started believing that I could not; it’s just what I have assumed for 13 years.
It’s just very odd, and it made me wonder how many other things in life I have been depriving myself of and pining for because somehow, somewhere, I thought I did not have it.
But alas, my lobes are always naked. I have gotten my ears pierced twice (at a young age) and my holes have closed twice, as I always seem to fail to follow the proper instructions the piercing parlor hands you on the way out the door. After failing twice, I would not allow myself a 3rd go, so I have been pining for decoration on my ears for quite some time. Since 7th grade, in fact- this was the last time I wore earrings before my second set of holes closed.
.
However in the past year, I have taken up clip-ons, which incidentally you cannot find in the stores these days. Instead, I have been going to antiques stores shopping for your grandma’s earrings, because back in WWII they indeed sported clip-ons. I thought I could revive the clip-on look, sort of pretend it was vintage and cool, but it hasn’t really worked out for me. Your grandmother’s earrings tend to be gold and bulbous, and simply do not achieve the sexy, gypsy look I had in mind. So, I was back to pining and looking from afar, realizing I would not be the girl with the whimsical jewelry hanging from her ears.
The reason I am sharing all this is because my friend Erica brought me back the most beautiful earrings from Bolivia, and I was rather distraught. I intended to put them in my drawer to keep company with the diamond earrings my father gave me for Christmas 2 years ago- which of course have also never been worn. But, then, a funny thing happened. On a whim, I decided to just see…how far would they go in those closed holes? What if I was aggressive? I was picturing swollen, bloody earlobes, but could not resist trying.
And the funny part is, both earrings slid right in my ears without any resistance. I mean I have thought for 13 years that my ears were closed. Why had I been believing all these years that I could not wear earrings? I can’t remember the time I started believing that I could not; it’s just what I have assumed for 13 years.
It’s just very odd, and it made me wonder how many other things in life I have been depriving myself of and pining for because somehow, somewhere, I thought I did not have it.
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