I have an earring tree that has been sitting on the same dresser for more than a quarter-century.
While dusting off the old pine wood surface, the collection of earrings that have accumulated over the years caught my eye.
I know, the most surprising part of the story so far is that I was dusting.
Please know, gentle reader, that come hell or high water I do dust when the morning sunlight pours into a room and reflects the oversight of wood and dust commingling. This morning, the sunlight also caught silver memories hanging silently from the tree. As many of them were single earrings I wondered why I had kept them for so long.
Aaah yes, I remembered, I don't want to get rid of them in case their partner shows up unexpectedly between a cushion or under a bed.
What are the chances the partner earring will appear out of nowhere after it disappeared during the Bush-era?
I am not sure, but holding on to them adds value to the one remaining: the three-loop silver bob I got on my first trip to Mexico; the beaded, indigenous wonder gifted to me at Christmas; and the handcrafted star from the closed hippy store.
No longer jewelry, they are a living diary, a sacred relic. Knowing upon my death the single earrings will be discarded as worthless, I hold the rag-tag, displaced pieces as a beautiful community.
I love them because they hung around.
I love their silent history and that together they feel like they have transformed into ornaments on the only tree I decorate all throughout the year.
In the midst of a crazy, busy world that discards and destroys, today I want to stop and look at an old earring tree.
I want to remember, and give thanks, for all the people who didn't discard me when I was lost and a bit broken.
And to thank you, my friends, for all the times you have honored the lost and broken pieces and seen them as a beautiful community.
- Becca Stevens