-Isms

The other day, I was sorting through a pile of jewelry on my dresser - the catch-all for necklaces and bracelets. (Yes, I know. I should put them away immediately instead of letting everything pile up until I cannot open the doors on my jewelry box.)

One pair of drop earrings, comprised of five squares of cubic zirconia, was in the mix.

When did I wear these? What special occasion required pushing the finding through my semi-closed pierced ears?

Your guess is as good as mine.

I opened the jewelry box, which contains four drawers filled with earrings and put the pair away. How does one person amass this many pieces of jewelry?

Sorry, wrong person to ask. I’m sure Scott thinks the same thing about the amount of clothing that fills my closets. Yes, plural. As in more than one.

Most were purchased to accentuate my teacher wardrobe. Tasteful hoops. A few teardrops. A lot of chandeliers and dangles.

I was the next to the last girl in my class to pierce her ears. The ‘rents did not approve and refused to spend money to poke holes in my earlobes.

Enter Joyce, my hip Aunt, four years older than me. When I was in seventh grade, she gave me a cool patchwork purse for Christmas. Tucked inside: a pair of self-piercing earrings that would work their way through the skin in 10 to 14 days.

Perfect.

Until, a month later when I chose to wear heavy earrings and one ripped through my earlobe.

Mom’s advice was to let the holes close. I rebelled and put the self-piercing earring back on my right lobe. Two weeks later, I started color coordinating earrings with the outfit of the day.

That trend continued until I stopped teaching. In the past 13 years, I think I’ve popped in a pair of earrings five times ... and one of those was my first date with Scott. Yes, I still have that pair.

Now, as I stared inside the drawers, my first thought was to purge the jewelry case. Seriously, several were missing their mates and a few pairs were without the screw-back posts.

I lingered for a moment, looking at several pairs tucked inside.

One set belonged to Grandma Larson, a pair of Black Hills gold leaves, purchased long before pierced ears were the norm.

A pair of faux pearls form crosses, a gift from a class I taught at Lutheran High Northeast.

A pair of blue, iridescent sequined fringe earrings used to be my favorite.

Tissue paper is wrapped around a set Mom bought while we were on a day trip when I blogged for Nebraska Tourism one summer. We visited a shop in Winnebago and Mom fell in love with a beaded necklace and earring set, made there by a jewelry artist. She kept the necklace and handed the earrings to me as a reminder of our venture on a sweltering August day.

I’m surprised she did not keep them. She was the original earring fashionista, with box upon box of chandelier and fringe styles. It’s a rough estimate, but at one point, toward the end of her teaching career, she may have owned close to 250 pairs.

Now I know where I get my penchant for earrings. And clothes.

Cleaning out the jewelry box will have to wait until another day, when I can rationalize keeping each set for some silly sentimental reason.

As I close the doors of the jewelry box, I contemplate what outfit I will wear the next day.

There’s definitely a pair of earrings to match.