Kindness glides about the house

In Trømso, I admired a Sammi-crafted bracelet in leather and sterling wire, but I had an attack of panic about the expenses ahead, and I left it in the case.  Later Ann presented me with the bracelet as a gift--totally bought the thing without my knowing it.  I've worn it every day since she got it for me.  In Trondheim, with her encouragement, I bought a scarf that has been part of my daily uniform too. Small changes to may daily uniform of a sports watch and a peace sign on a leather strip with some rings around it.

In Bath Cheryl and I stopped in a shop that had loads of handmade jewelry, some scarves, and some tchotchkes.  I picked out some earrings in amber and in amethyst, and pointed to them for Cheryl's opinion.  Of course I was looking at the tinier, more delicate earrings, but Cheryl said absolutely not--bigger and bolder.

WTF, I bought the bigger and bolder earrings.  B&B then became my mantra for the rest of the trip.

I do love small and delicate things, but the truth is, I am neither small nor delicate.  I tend to buy jewelry to go unnoticed and clothes to hide behind. I realized when I took this photo of myself outside the store that Cheryl wasn't just telling me the bigger earrings look better, but that embracing B&B was psychologically the right move.

So the two pairs of pants and two shirts I have been wearing since Sept. 8 were at this point in Bath dressed up with a swell, but still modest, scarf from Trondheim, a messenger bag from Flåm, and these sterling and amethyst earrings from Bath.  A little bigger, a little bolder, but still well within hippy-dom.

I have already told you about the magic scarf I didn't know how to wear, but which brought me good things on Wednesday night.  I did not mention that there were other purchases before that of satin and silk jackets and a couple of other shiny scarves.  Fancier than my usual strictly Kmart or Flax wear, but still in browns and blacks.  Cheryl suggested some BIG necklaces to go with them, but I revolted.  Still clutching my peace sign on a leather strap, I did not want and could not imagine such a weight around my neck.

On Friday, I decided to return to the vendor in Covent Garden where I got the shiny stuff and get another jacket in a bolder color.  On my way, I came across a jewelry maker to whom I really took a liking.  He makes jewelry out of sterling silverware, and I was immediately struck by a bracelet from a fork in which the tines curled and spread across the wrist.  Before I was done, I purchased this wild bracelet, a pinky ring from a coffeespoon, and a really large ring for my middle finger made from a teaspoon.  Not like me at all, and especially not when worn all at once.  I kept the pinky ring and the bracelet on, but I put the other ring in a bag--it was going to take some time to get used to that one.  These things still may be a little funky, but we are drifting away from dime store hippy.

I left the shopping and went to Notes for a latte and a light supper and a some writing.  Once back at my hotel, I realized I had lost the big ring.  Panic.  And a bit of anger--why didn't I just wear the damned thing like all the rest of the jewelry?

The next day, happily, the same shop was open (they are not necessarily the same from day to day), and I reported the missing ring.  The jewelry maker had a butter knife from 1912 he was going to bend later, and he said if I wanted to come back, he'd give it to me for a substantially reduced price.  So I headed off for some breakfast and a couple of cups of coffee before coming back to find this most stunning ring waiting for me.  It was much cooler than the ring I had lost, and I would not have purchased it if I had not lost the other. 

New jewelry, pre-butter spreader

I have since realized that making jewelry from old silverware is kind of a thing, but these pieces are quite attractive, I think, they feel GREAT, they are definitely B&B.  When I wear them, I feel bolder.  I remember the fun of indulging myself in their purpose, and I think of the knife ring as the one I was supposed to have.  There is probably some magic left to be discovered in it too.

Today, my last full day on my reinvention tour, I got up for some breakfast, then wandered over to the Jubilee market, which I hadn't really investigated before.  There was a booth filled with the softest velvety scarves I had seen.  Muted colors, bold colors.  I reached, of course, for something brown and a gorgeous teal scarf, and the young becapped woman running the stall said hello and encouraged me to try on the scarves.  "You have to see them on to decide."  I just wanted to feel them, but okay.  She shook her head.  "With your beautiful eyes you have to wear something that brings them out" and she reached for a mossy green, then a brighter green."  I took them, oddly shy because this suddenly felt girly and she looked me so squarely in the face and it was no longer just about the material but about how *I* looked in the scarves.  At the moment I was becoming shy, she said "open your eyes and look at yourself" and moved me toward the mirror. 

I changed my mind 10 times, I bought bright scarves and muted ones, I bought scarves for Michelle and scarves for myself.  I laughed.  I took pictures.

I delivered my booty directly to my hotel room in order to avoid the mishap like the ring, and I took the tube to Tate Britain for my dose of Turner and Constable, with just a touch of Blake thrown in.  When I came back, I realized I still had about 20£ on my Oyster card, which I would surely misplace before I got back to Britain.  I went back to the scarf place where Kim was having a sandwich as she continued to fold and move scarves around.  I handed her the Oyster card, explaining I'd just taken my last ride, hadn't registered the card, so she still could.  "For your kindness this morning."