Time Machine

Today I broke the cardinal rule of productivity.  I opened “the drawer.”  You know the one; it unleashes a time machine that pulls you backward into years past and never lets you go.

I actually had a purpose in mind as I dove into the drawer: finding the extra links from the bracelet of a beloved timepiece, given to me by my husband to celebrate twenty years of marriage.  As we are about to hit our thirtieth anniversary, this gives you an idea how long it has been since I have cracked open the drawer.  Once released, there is no stopping the power of the past to envelop you.  As one hour, than two, than three ticked by, my journey picked up extra travelers.  There I was, still in my nightgown, surrounded by the trappings of my life while my husband and daughter and I emitted gentle ‘oohs’ and ‘ahs’ over trivial-yet-meaningful objects.

There was a double strand of mother-of-pearl beads linked by a beautifully-crafted cameo clasp.  Unbelievably heavy, they have no real value as jewelry, but the fact that they belonged to my grandmother renders them priceless.  I have a distinct memory of her having worn these beads at a family gathering, displaying the cameo down the side of the necklace with its head up.  Never having gazed upon these before, my daughter was enchanted by their simple beauty.  I watched as she tried them on—just as I had done once in my youth with my grandmother by my side.  My grandmother loved to teach me of the finer “girly” things in life--her way of drawing out my femininity.

I found a necklace this same grandmother had given me for my 7^th birthday.  I remember when it arrived from New York in a brown-paper-covered box sealed with paper tape—my name written in her perfect school-teacher script.  I was flabbergasted by its contents: a gold necklace forged of my own name, hanging from each corner by tiny pearls threaded with gold.  It was an extravagant gift for a second-grader; I wore it proudly for years until I went to college.  By then I thought it prudent not to advertise my name to strangers in the big city.

My other grandmother was represented by a tiny watch.  Barely a half-inch in diameter, she brought this watch for me from Bucherer in Switzerland while on a round-the-world trip she took soon after my grandfather passed away.  There are no frills on this watch—it is stainless steel with a simple black face—perfect for a first grader.  I remember learning to tell time from the markers, as it was too small for actual numbers.  I have not worn this watch in decades, but when I picked it up and wound it, it pinged in perfect rhythm like any fine Swiss timepiece.

There was a delicate gold necklace.  Back in the 70s these were called “nothing necklaces,” thin chains with an ornament—normally a pearl—mounted about every two inches.  This one featured gold cutouts shaped like diamonds; it was a gift from my grandmother’s sister Rose when I graduated from high school.  Years later, Rose would die quickly from a terrible illness, leaving my grandmother inconsolable.  I promised her then that should I ever be blessed with a daughter I would use the name ‘Rose’ in her honor.  At Emily Rose’s first birthday I put this necklace on her.  It had broken long ago and was put away.  Thankful to have found it today, I had been unable to find it to present to her at her own high school graduation one year ago.

Also in this drawer was a large Ziploc bag of costume jewelry from my years in corporate life.  Relegated to conservative blue or grey suits, I took great pleasure in adorning my lapels with whimsical pins.  My daughter looked through the collection that included a bubble-gum machine, a scary black cat that belonged at a “Day of the Dead” celebration, several abstract mixed-metal pieces, a G clef, a tic-tac-toe featuring Mickey Mouse ears, and a large shining sun.  Picking out some favorites, my daughter asked if she could take a few to pin on her blazers and denim jackets.

Next were the baby teeth.  My son’s first teeth fell out—as documented on the little envelope—on Father’s Day, 1995.  We also had my daughter’s two front teeth, which were dislodged and permanently damaged early in her childhood.  Although my husband successfully re-seated them, they never grew as she did, forcing them to require surgical removal (by him!) in the second grade.

By far the most nostalgic and touching items in the drawer were the notes written by my children in their own hands.  I share a couple of them here, preserving their own spelling and punctuation:

By Emily to Santa (second grade):

Dear santa clause,

How are you and Mrs. Clause?

Are your Elves working well, and making lots of toys for millions of children.  Must be very hard work.  Plus for you flying around thousands of millions of chimneys dropping presents.  Maybe some milk and cookies will feel good.  You are the best!

love
Emily Rose

By Jonathan to the Tooth Fairy:

From the desk of Jonathan

Dear tooth fairy,

I lost my tooth today.  Later tonight I was going to pick it up and it dropped.  I lost it in the rug.  Can I still have a doller?  Please?

signed,

Jonathan

Ahh.  I cannot live forever in the past and, therefore, set the time machine to hurl me back to the present.  Oddly, my daughter is still analytically-oriented and comforts people with food.  And my son, alas, still wants money for nothing.  I guess nothing has really changed (unless I gaze in the mirror).  And if you have been following carefully, I did, indeed, find the “missing links.”



Tomorrow's blog:  Laptops and Other Heavenly Bodies