My mom was an accomplished knitter. When I was in school she knit stunning one-of-a-kind sweaters. Complicated, intricate, beautiful patterns. I loved the sweaters because no one else had one like it. She’d go shopping in Sioux Falls, searching for material and a pattern to coordinate with the sweater like a pleated skirt or lined wool Bermuda shorts (which I wore all winter-with knee socks and saddle shoes). Mom had a seamstress who was a magician with her sewing machine. I thought I was pretty close to cool.
I’ve never worn a lot of jewelry. Part of the reason was an allergy to nickel, one of the main metals in costume jewelry and parts of watches. If the metal from a watch or earring touched my skin, I’d immediately break out with red bumps and itch, so wearing a watch wasn’t part of accessorizing. I never knew the time which was annoying until John bought a darling pin/watch I could wear on my sweater. If I looked down to check the time the watch faced the right way for me, not the person in front of me.
As a high school girl, steadily dating Johnny Wayne, (now the Hubs) there was a centuries old, ritualistic custom of exclusivity to demonstrate your undying love and loyalty to your significant other. This involved wearing each other’s class rings. Very prominently. He shoved mine on his pinkie, making it about half way, aware at all times to keep his finger bent or it would slip off unnoticed. His steady girlfriend went through more elaborate measures to wear his huge ring. Hubs had a sapphire stone in his ring (my favorite color), mine had an onyx stone.
Since my mom had every type/texture of yarn known to mankind, I’d change the yarn on his ring to match my outfits. Winding colorful angora, wool or mohair on the bottom half of his ring several times until his size 12 fit my 5-1/2. I never wore his ring on a chain around my neck because it would have stood out farther than my non-existent cleavage.
For a change of pace I’d take a long strip of white bandage tape and fold it several times, resembling the shape of Chiclets or Luden’s Cough drop and tape it to the underside of his ring. This meant his ring stuck up very high (and got in the way of everything). Sometimes I’d loop a length of tape around the bottom of his ring like the yarn but that left significant gaps on each side which might accidentally hook something else and rip off a finger. Dang the pressure of going steady was a constant struggle. In a lot of ways.
Since my unique sweater days I’ve been hooked on pins. First the designs were animals like a puppy. Mom bought several pins to dress up my patterned, solid color sweaters. Adding a cute pin near my shoulder accented my outfit. Hubs bought Shannon and I matching bee pins when she was little. But my favorite pin was also my smallest. A minuscule gold tone mouse with tiny black eyes and a very long tail. That little guy (who moved the cheese?) switched outfits almost everyday during high school (and got better grades).
I stopped wearing pins for a decade after I became a mom. You don’t realize both shoulders are constantly occupied until you have a baby. There’s nothing as fulfilling as having the sweet smell of your newborn making little grunts and squeaks next to your ear and falling to sleep upright on your chest. But not very convenient if they’re getting gouged or scratched because a piece of jewelry is in the way of their comfort. By the time babies morphed into toddlers, they constantly yank on your necklace chain, tug your earrings until you lose a lobe and chew any fingers sporting rings. When they were finally past the baby/toddler stage, I started wearing pins on sweaters and jackets again until I went rogue and stopped wearing anything fancier than t-shirts, sweatshirts and blue jeans.
Life is constantly changing, something I’m not always fond of. A few years ago if I left the house, I’d be sporting a couple rings, a necklace, bracelet, and I went out almost everyday. Not so much anymore. A couple trips to the grocery store every week, church on Sunday, otherwise I’m usually home-without jewelry, but I’m ok with that schedule…