Sometime in the early 90s my mother gave me a ring that she bought from a spectacularly funky clothing store in Pocatello, Idaho. The shop was called Julie's and it embodied everything that was opposite of my small hometown of X. Julie's was where I bought my first (and only) pair of Birkenstocks which I wore until they disintegrated eight years later.
The ring was delicate and sweet – hand-crafted with sterling silver, one perfect amethyst perched in a raised setting and two tiny diamond chips set on either side. I loved the ring for many reasons: it was understated, streamlined and, most importantly, it was from my mother.
About a year later, I lost the ring and was sick over it. I didn't tell my mom, not because I thought she would be mad but because I felt guilty for being irresponsible. Part of me thought I might find it someday. My rational side knew that the ring was gone for good since I vaguely remembered leaving it next to a sink in the ladies' room of the Olive Garden in Logan, Utah.
At some point during the past 15 years, I stopped feeling sick over it. I don't recall the exact point in which the loss of the ring ceased to be a worry. I wish I could pinpoint the exact moment because it seems like a rite of passage, the moment a coveted object becomes less important. Don't you think that's an important transition, when one realizes material items don't matter?
I could be making it all sound more significant than it needs to be. Maybe the forward motion of life overshadows the loss of treasured items – like moving away from home or turbulent relationships, college, the daily grind, growing older...
Of course, it would be nice if I still had the ring but I'm certainly not losing sleep over it now. I've lost many belongings since then, either by my own inattentiveness or by theft. I don't fret the way I used to over lost things (which seems way too
adult).
There's nothing quite like the smell of fresh basil.
On Sunday a woman parked in front of our house then spent a good hour picking up acorns in our yard.
Currently obsessed with this little bit of gastronomic perfection: thai miang kum.
Sometime in the early 90s my mother gave me a ring that she bought from a spectacularly funky clothing store in Pocatello, Idaho. The shop was called Julie's and it embodied everything that was opposite of my small hometown of X. Julie's was where I bought my first (and only) pair of Birkenstocks which I wore until they disintegrated eight years later.
I'll take one of everything shown above, thank you! Since I'm always wearing scrubs, I'm not sure where I'd actually wear any of these things... but I like them just the same. { images from boden }
