Playwriting

The Jewelry Edition

I’m not big on jewelry. I used to be. I used to wear big wacky earrings, sometimes mismatched. Long strands of fake pearls and broaches and the lot. Working at home really sucks that ‘dress up’ gene right out of a person. I stopped wearing earrings years ago and let the holes close up. I gave away all my necklaces and I’ve grown to hate having anything on my wrists so bracelets are out too.

I still love rings. But I’m real picky about what I wear. Probably because all my rings have stories to them. I love that, I love telling the story of something when asked.

There’s the ring I bought in Prague as the memory of my month long writing trip. I bought it because the pattern on the ring reminded me of the cobblestones. Every time I look at it, I’m reminded that I can do anything I put my mind too, including saving up enough to spend a month in another country.

And there’s this one which is an antique typewriter key. I love having a ring that represents me as a writer. And if I ever was motivated to collect things (I’m not and probably never will be) it would be antique typewriters, so this is an awesome consolation.

I wear two rings on my left ring finger. One is my wedding ring and the other is a cheap, falling apart copper/ceramic thing I’ve had since I was an early teen. I had lost my wedding ring for a period of six months years ago. It wasn’t the loss of the ring that was traumatic – the ring was inexpensive (coughcheapcough) as far as wedding bands go and I have a happy marriage which means more to me than a ring – but what was traumatic was the number of times in a day I found out I touched my thumb to that place on my left ring finger. It jolted a feeling in me of ‘hey I’m married!’ An emotional comfort. And to not feel the ring there, made me sad. So I searched my meagre offerings for any ring that would fit on that finger. The ring itself didn’t matter at all. It was just to have something there for my thumb to come in contact with. And the only ring that fit was my falling apart crappy copper/ceramic thing. It was perfect.

And when I found my wedding ring, way at the back of a closet that was finally emptied as we prepared to move, I decided to wear both rings. There’s the one that was put on my finger fifteen years ago, and the one that says the specific ring doesn’t matter. The emotional comfort attached to my marriage occurs whether it’s the real thing or a falling apart substitute.

Yep, I love me a good story…..what story does your jewelry tell?

About the author

Lindsay Price

1 Comment

  • Love the post. I’ve been married for 33 years (I think you’ve met my beautiful bride at a conference) and a couple of years ago I lost my wedding ring at a 2nd job. My left hand still does not feel complete (I know exactly what Sweeny Todd’s yell means “At last, my arm is complete again!”) and I have yet to get over the loss of the ring. I don’t know what story that tells, but it’s mine.

    Tom Fearon
    Woodcreek High School
    Roseville