I'm not so much the girl who goes for the bling, but I do love me some earthy artisan jewelry, especially if it has a special local meaning. This partially explains why I'm so fond of my Iberville beach shale pieces (necklace and earrings). I'm almost always wearing them, and have taken to wearing lots of black v-neck tops to best show off the necklace. That piece of jewelry holds my body warmth and seems to be alive in its own right. It comes from the land of my ancestors and it makes me feel strongly connected to it. I get compliments on it often, even from strangers. I wear it all the time, and look, here's a little photo of me taken at Silver Lake to prove it:
When I arrived in Utah, I told Margene that while there I would like to buy a special piece of local artisan jewelry. I was thinking of a necklace or earrings. I can't wear rings or bracelets because of my work and the speed with which my hands have to move and the positions they need to get in for accuracy of the steno. The metal makes my hands hurt somehow and slows me down. It seems like it confines the little muscles and ligaments in my fingers and wrists.
Long story short (and there IS a long story, but Margene can tell it better), I found THE piece in Park City.
I bought some bling.
It is a piece of petrified Utah dinosaur bone with a citrine stone, set in sterling silver, and on a sterling choker. Here it is reclining on my unfinished Central Park (non)Hoodie of Peace Fleece in the color Sheplova Mushroom.
I'll pause here for a few seconds to allow your heart rate to resume to normal.
And then, as if that wasn't enough, the next day we went to Sundance and somehow or other some more pieces came home with me:
Really, the dinosaur bone is in a league of its own, but these pieces by a California artist are pretty frickin' spectacular, too. Orange agate, also known as carnelian, with rustic silver disks. Here's a close-up of the disk:
There's a long story here, too: I was only going to get the earrings until Margene took things in her own hands, practically crawled over (she didn't really have to "crawl" over, since she's six feet tall -- just a little stretch was all that was necessary) the jeweler's desk, reached inside, took the necklace out, and put it on my neck. Just like that. Then all the other women started oohing and ahhing and telling me I'd regret it if I didn't get it, and oh, how perfect it was with my hair and my skin, and all this other
dreck wonderful stuff. For goddess's sake, how is anyone supposed to resist these sorts of criminals pushy bitches people? The very moment it was on my neck, I knew I owned it. Quest fulfilled.
Now that I'm home, I'm also getting some strong vibes that it is time to pick up the Peace Fleece Central Park (non)Hoodie and finish that sucker. I kinda think the jewelry is saying it. Ya think?
True Story: All this purchasing activity is so unusual for me that it prompted the credit card company's fraud division to call, just to make sure someone hadn't stolen the card and started using it to buy up all the jewelry in Utah.