This morning, while dashing about frantically, frenetically, trying to remove my shower items from my bathroom for the repair man to complete patching a large gaping hole in the ceiling, drying my hair, shimmying into my pencil skirt, throwing together some work out gear into my gym bag, slurping coffee, and generally preparing myself for an early morning teleconference with a client, I pull a necklace from my work purse, discarded there before working out sometime last week, and it shatters, the supportive wire snapped, beads and golden circular plate pieces scattering across my wood floor. Staring at the constellation of destruction before me, I want to begin to cry, and only hold back the tears from an innate, hormonal, adrenaline physiological response, as I was running supremely late. The necklace had no intrinsic value, no veritable worth, built of nothing sumptuous or precious, and, indeed, had no real sentimental value either; however, it was a favorite of mine, a unique look, a heavy choker style necklace with golden pieces and rounded cream beads.
Although this seems, in the grand scheme of our planet's yearly revolution around our dear star, a rather minor occurrence, to be honest, it was the perfect symbolic manifestation of my personal internal mantra as of late: all I touch, shatters. Though not quite yet following in the steps of Okonkwo, towards inevitable demise from stubborn hubris, unabated aggression, and insurmountable imperial and missionary forces, I have been feeling a sort of crumbling; perhaps it is just the rotting hole in the ceiling of my bathroom. At times like these, I yearn for my dear friend Katherine, not only for her ability to fix my broken jewelry, but for her ability to mend and buttress a broken spirit. To find the glass full, perhaps this can create a new do-it-myself adventure, and a new, improved necklace; I plan to look for a long, plain, gold chain and re-string the cream beads and the golden pieces.
Although this seems, in the grand scheme of our planet's yearly revolution around our dear star, a rather minor occurrence, to be honest, it was the perfect symbolic manifestation of my personal internal mantra as of late: all I touch, shatters. Though not quite yet following in the steps of Okonkwo, towards inevitable demise from stubborn hubris, unabated aggression, and insurmountable imperial and missionary forces, I have been feeling a sort of crumbling; perhaps it is just the rotting hole in the ceiling of my bathroom. At times like these, I yearn for my dear friend Katherine, not only for her ability to fix my broken jewelry, but for her ability to mend and buttress a broken spirit. To find the glass full, perhaps this can create a new do-it-myself adventure, and a new, improved necklace; I plan to look for a long, plain, gold chain and re-string the cream beads and the golden pieces.
(image taken from Echoes of the Past,
bakelite necklace featuring cream and deep teal beads)
You know, I went through a period in my life that everything shattered. I'm stronger now.
ReplyDeleteThanks for the encouraging words Judy!
ReplyDelete