I'm a poet / essayist / memoirist/
journalist (in the sense of keeping a journal, not of working for a newspaper) and it occurred to me that a blog fits in with all that. If Montaigne, father of the essay, were alive today, he'd keep a blog. This is my self-portrait as frustrated artist who can't believe she's not famous yet. (And because it's part of my artistic endeavor, the whole damn thing is copyrighted. All rights reserved.)
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December 18, 2006

Broaching the Subject of Brooches

Although I really love jewelry and often wear a lot of it, I never used to like pins. In fact, I actively disliked them. I thought they were silly, and I disdained people who wore them, because A) they were jewelry for clothes, not people; and B) they couldn't be worn on more delicate garments, without risk of ripping them; and C) they just seemed out of style; and, most importantly D) only old ladies wore them. Every so often someone would give me a pin or brooch, and I would exclaim, "Oh, how nice!" before putting dragging out a trunk I kept at the back of a closet, where I stored all my ugly, rejected jewelry.

Then, one day this summer, while browsing at a jewelry store while I had my watch repaired, I found this guy:

turtle_pin.jpg

Now, he doesn't photograph all that well, but trust me: he's really cute. And I have always had a thing for turtles--they're so prehistoric-looking and eccentric and stand-offish--I find it impossible not to love them. And I looked at this guy and thought, "I could stand to pin him to the lapel of a coat," so I bought him, took him home, and wore him a time or two.

And I decided I'd given pins a short shrift.

So I told my mother that if she had any pins she didn't wear any more, I'd take them. And she sent me several, one of which was this large pin, a wreath of holly with a big gold bow, that belonged to my grandmother and that she wore every winter pinned to a bright red suit:

Holly_pin.jpg

Last week, on my final day of teaching, I went holiday festive: I wore a red skirt, a white shirt, and a tweedy green jacket--the very one you see the brooch afixed to. I stood before my mirror and thought, "This would be the perfect outfit to wear that pin with." And I pinned it to the jacket and surveyed myself, all ready to walk out the door, and thought, "I look like an old lady. Actually, I don't just look like any old lady: I look like my grandmother."

And I continued to look at myself, trying to decide how I felt about that.

And what I decided was that I didn't feel bad. In fact, I decided that one of the nice things about, uh, maturing, is that you can get away with dressing like an old lady.

I really sort of liked it, and I plan to do it again.

Posted by holly at December 18, 2006 4:01 PM

5 Comments

By Jana on December 19, 2006 12:18 AM

What a lovely post. Thanks for the smile and the walk down memory lane as I thought about the pins/brooches that my Mom and grandma often wore. :)

By Juti on December 19, 2006 11:13 AM

That is one gorgeous brooch, and perfect for a Holly! You could also wear it on a classy black sweater.

The same goes for the little turtle.

By Hattie on December 19, 2006 12:29 PM

I saw the most lovely brooch on a woman's lapel yesterday. It was a funky-looking gold star. Wonder where she got it.

By Sister Mary Lisa on December 21, 2006 2:19 AM

Your post reminded me that I have commented to a couple of blog friends lately (both of whom asked to see a photo of me) that I feel like I look matronly, even though I'm only 34, because I look just like my mother who bore 8 children, and who's in her 50s (not that that is old)...

Don't you just love the word matronly? I never hear that word anymore, but I continue to love using it. Sigh. Now if only I knew how to make myself appear thirty and flirty and thriving.

Sigh.

And I love the turtle pin, and also the idea that the wreath would look GREAT on a black sweater or jacket.

By Holly on December 21, 2006 8:41 AM

Glad you like the pins, everyone. SML, you're the only one to comment on the "old lady" part of the post--and yeah, I actually do like the word "matronly," now that I've embraced the concept behind it.

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