chains and things

This is the top of my jewelry chest. I thought it sort of poetic-looking, and it was entirely unintentional--I didn't specifically position any of it.

I'm a naturally nosy person, and I assume most people are too, if they're being honest with themselves. I especially enjoy poking through other people's jewelry and hearing the history behind pieces, so I thought I might explain the stories behind these.

The picture is a couple in an Argentine tango pose. I bought it in Flagstaff, long before I really learned anything about the dance.

I don't remember what wine we were having that night, but it's in a Ridel crystal goblet that Colin got as a present from a friend. Now that we have them, and have discovered that the wine really does taste better out of them, I don't want to bother with our glass goblets.


A better shot of the surface.

The chest itself was a present from my friend BreeAnna. She claimed she really didn't want it (although really--how could anyone not want a giant jewelry chest to fill?). Now I need to either purge some of my jewelry or get a bigger one.

I'll move clockwise from the top right. The box was a gift from my father when he went to Saudi Arabia for three months on business. For a long time, he had a tradition of bringing us something little home whenever he went away. I was in high school, and used to him traveling quite often, but three months was the longest I had ever gone without seeing him. Because the trip was so long (and, perhaps, because it was so exotic a locale), he brought us quite a few things.

The pink rose pendant was also a gift from my father, this time from when he went to London. It came in a green box that said Herrods on it, and he told us it was a famous department store in England. I made sure to go when I finally made it over there. My sister got a pansy, but I haven't seen it in years.

The starfish was from Target for ten bucks. I bought it because I had been trolling the Tiffany's website and fell in love with the Elsa Perretti starfish, and since $150 for sterling was something far beyond my college-student budget, I jumped on the knock-off. It's bigger than the Perretti versions, but I've decided I actually like that better. That said, though, if anyone wants to get me the diamond version, I wouldn't mind in the least.

The faux pearls are opera-length, and supposedly from the 1930's. I got them at a vintage store in Sedona the last time we went up. Again, childhood tradition dictates that one buys oneself a souvenir on vacations. I actually walked out of the store without buying these, but went back at the last second to purchase them (which I am very glad of). They're quite heavy.

The silver flower necklace was a bridesmaid's present from Leeann, whose wedding was about a year and a half ago. It's one of two pieces I have from Tiffany's (the other also from Leeann, come to think of it. She spoils me).

The glass mouse and the fish were also presents my dad brought home from the Saudi trip.

I paid ten dollars for a strand of lapis lazuli at the gem and mineral show and made that necklace. The gold-tone beads between the lapis were from a necklace my mother owned in the eighties that I dismantled. Again, very heavy, but I love the stones.

I hate Valentine's Day. Colin does too.

. . . but apparently I'm making a Valentine's Day post anyway.

Was going back through an old blog of mine to find an entry I made about a Damien Rice concert I went to. Found lots of other amusing things instead, including this:

Oct 17, 2007 - 10:12 PM jonas

I am starting, slowly, to fall for a friend of mine (or just slowly noticing that I'm falling?) who is entirely wrong for me.

Here are the things that are entirely wrong about falling for him:

• He doesn't generally like children, and doesn't really want any of his own.
• He doesn't ever plan on marriage.
• He lives two hours away at the moment, and soon will probably be living 5 hours away.
• He doesn't eat fish. (Sushi is pretty much my favorite food.)

Here are the things that are making me fall for him anyway:

• His mind works, creatively, on a level that I connect to. And am in awe of.
• His intelligence is considerable.
• He understands and sees more of me than almost anyone else.
• The sexual tension between us is almost literally palpable.

There's nothing to be done about it, though. Most likely it will resolve itself into a regrettable nothing-to-speak-of.

Currently Playing: sounds like jonah, of the whale

All still true (except living five hours away, obvi), and yet here we are, very much together nearly three and a half years later.

Wrong never felt so right*.


*and other applicable Valentine's clichés

things I like this week, vol. 3

As always, click on the image to go to the source.

memorial, pt 2: the safeway

I ended up going by the Safeway where the shooting took place for the first time 9 days ago. It's funny: I saw pictures of the one at UMC all the time, but nothing of the Safeway. I was a little anxious--afraid I was going to see bloodstains on the pavement, or something--but it looked just like it always did, except for the memorial.

They put these metal gates up on the street side, so that people could look at it with less risk of getting swiped by a car, but these ladies seemed to think it was a barrier.


There were two of these, draped in streamers with what looked like prayers written on them.

A bumper sticker; no idea if it was printed before or after the shooting.



Lennon's "Imagine" lyrics printed on a slab of rock. Took this picture just for Kate.


Some of those metal gates had been incorporated into the memorial. Not sure what purpose they originally served. This one had been wrapped in ribbon.


Water. As an offering? A humane gesture for those who came to visit?

Balloons, everywhere. Almost merry, especially blowing in the breeze.

There was a note that said that the employees of Safeway would routinely come out to collect items to keep safe for the family members. There was a table with a petition for more reasonable, rational political discourse. Someone had made a binder full of people's reminiscences of one of the victims. I saw several letters and cards, many from people who appeared to have personally known those who died.

There's another small collection of candles and things on the corner of the intersection, with a large "God Bless Tucson" sign presiding over it. It's been there since long before the tape was removed.

giving trees

It started rather slowly. I shared Ender's Game, and then Ender's Shadow, with a small, quiet student who sketched while I lectured and learned better when he did. I could tell by the way he drew the illustrations of the books for his presentation that they'd stuck with him. His Ender, blond with head bowed while they took the monitor off his neck, looked like him.

And then I loaned Pride and Prejudice to one of my seniors so that she would understand the allusion when I said a mutual acquaintance reminded me of Mr. Collins.

It began to build. When one of my juniors was going through a rough time at home, I lent her my copy of Matilda (a testament to how much I trust her). And I handed her Hunger Games and Catching Fire yesterday, promised that I'd give her the third before she was ready for it. She started reading Slaughterhouse on her own, on Google books, because of my tattoo, and was complaining about it cutting off after the first fifty pages. Once she pays off her library fines, she's checking it out from the school library.

I realized yesterday too that my Chinese student, still not proficient in the written form of English, might benefit from reading fun things at a slightly lower difficulty level. I tried to pawn off my extra copy of Diary of a Part-time Indian on him, but he vetoed it; I was able to get him to check out Ender's Game instead. This feels like a success, or will be if he likes it.

I already know the next student, a sophomore, that I'm handing the Hunger Games series to. I'm planning out without meaning to the next few titles I'm going to loan my junior, the one who reminds me so strongly of my far-away sister.

And it occurred to me: I don't have to only share with them the literature that they often get bored of and quit reading simply because it's homework. I have to do that too, but I can share with them my private shelves as well, sneak them the books that impacted me and wound their way into my psyche long before some of them were even born.