When we were newly dating, very nearly a decade ago (!), someone took a very lovely photo of us at a party. Girls, if you read this one day, I want you to think about this: this photo was taken on film. And developed onto paper. When I let you play with my cell phone or the small Nikon Coolpix and you take one gazbillion shots and I let you because you're happy -- well back in the last century such things just weren't possible. Ask me one day to show you what film looks like. I'll probably resort to Google Images to fulfill the request.
So someone handed me a 4x6 print of this lovely picture and I commented I'd have to find something to put it in. The next time I saw the not-yet-husband he said, "Remember how you needed something to hold that photo? I got you something." He handed me a small box and inside was a heart-shaped locket and of course it couldn't hold that photo but I've worn it almost every single day since.
Two of my own and countless other children have tugged and teethed on this necklace. I've worn it through Europe three times. I've worn it in more than one ocean and more than one bay and thousands of showers and a few baths. I began to believe it was indestructible. And then this morning L climbed on my lap for a morning cuddle and reached to play with it, perhaps taste it, as she so often does
and it popped. And the locket flew off the chain and bounced across the floor and L looked disappointed, and confused. What would she play with now? And I felt disappointed and confused because my necklace made of not mere gold but love and kryptonite and failed me, failed my daydreams of wearing it until I'm 90. I don't think the chain can be repaired, so it will have to be replaced and after a decade of constancy I find myself wondering suddenly something I didn't ever know I'd wonder: what kind of an everyday necklace person am I?
March 30, 2009
Still life with relic from the past
That L is one strong chick.