A Diamond Day

It happened a bit over a week ago. Wednesday morning dawned colder than usual - at least, I think it did. I overslept. Since it was so late, I didn't think I'd be able to get to my usual haunt (25% discount day at my favorite thrift store), at least not without sacrificing my writing time and my walk, but I decided to play it more by ear than by plan (you read that post).

Anyway, as it happened, I not only finished my morning pages but managed to drag the Big Lug on the walk, too. The clock told me I was cutting it close to the 9:30 store opening time, yet when we reached the corner that made it either a "short" or "long" walk I knew the long version was the way to go - he's been a couch potato lately, and I wanted to do maximum damage to whatever artery block might have settled in with him. When he mentioned my time limit (to wriggle out?) I shrugged and said, "if something is there for me, it will wait until I get there to find it." And I meant it.

So when I finally reached the store just after 10 and saw the mob of other jewelry hunters, I really wasn't expecting too much. Hopeful, but not presuming, I called out a greeting to the clerk (as I always do - she's a gem), scanned the display case, found a few possibilities, then waited patiently until she had a free moment (she handles the cases and the register for the entire housewares section).

She greeted me with a smile, a sigh, and a roll of her eyes toward the other end of the counter. I nodded my commiseration - I'd watched her try to make her two arms into seven too many times not to. I pointed out my three items (in little zip-close bags) to be pulled, then let her jump back into the fray.

All three were not what I thought they'd be - one was brass not gold, the second was paste not stone. I almost didn't opent the third bag, thinking the place was even more picked over than I'd thought it would be - especially since it appeared to be just a silver chain curled up in the corner of the bag, and a $4.99 price tag usually means nice, plain, but nothing spectacular attached to it. I didn't even know why I'd pointed to it in the first place, honestly, since I have sterling chains galore. Yet when I took a second look, I was glad I did - it had a pendant strung on it, a small but pretty one. I shook it into my hand.

Not just pretty, but beautiful, isn't it? The chain felt smooth on my fingers, not harsh like steel (but not the fluid feel of gold). I checked the tag near the clasp, saw (fuzzy with my poor eyes) "925" (sterling), nodded, then studied the pendant. Appeared to be silver, too, with a colorless stone that was probably CZ (because silver usually is). A well-made piece, crisp lines, but I couldn't read more than the last "5" with my naked eye. Good enough. I loved it, I bought it (for $3.74 - 25% off day, remember?), then finished my seemingly endless errands.

Once I got home and unloaded the car, I pulled out my loupe. The tag on the chain said "925" all right, no surprises there. Double-check the pendant. Adjust distance. "5" definitely, but another "5"? I blinked and looked again. Not 925 after all - there, in razor-sharp relief was "585."

Not silver. White gold.

Ding, ding, ding!

A litany of muttered "thank You, thank You, thank You's" left my lips. Later, I met my student, made dinner, read before bed, all with a smile on my face. I was curious about the stone, of course, but when I hit it with the UV flashlight the next day it appeared to almost reflect the purple light (a bit blue, but mostly not), so while I thought it might be a diamond (as I reported last Thursday) I wasn't holding my breath. I did, however, decide to price some white gold chains in the big (fairly high-end) jewelry store near my office the next time I had a tutorial there, maybe even splurge and make a real necklace.

Tuesday, I finally made it out. I found the perfect chain - perfect length, perfect glitter factor (some were outshining the pendant), perfect for the size of the piece. Not the perfect price, however. I gulped at the tag. I hadn't bothered to shop anywhere online so it was a major case of sticker shock - $119 for a $3.74 pendant seemed ridiculous. I don't know what prompted me to ask - a thirst for knowledge or a desparate need to stall (she'd showed me a lot of chains) - but I popped out with "how can I figure out if this is a diamond or not?"

She held out her hand. "Would you like me to check it for you?" she asked. "It will only take a moment." They have a diamond tester (high-end store, remember?), and all she had to do is touch it, making sure the sensitive tip of the probe rested squarely on stone not metal - no small feat since it's so small. But she did it. I watched. It was cool, free, and fascinating. And then the silly box sang the verdict.

Diamond!

The room wobbled and my head buzzed - I actually thought I might faint for a moment. Not because I love diamonds so much - I much prefer rubies, emeralds, and any other non-potential-conflict stone - but because ... well, c'mon, four dollars!

So I bought the chain. I know, I could get it cheaper, but cheaper isn't always better, especially when I can't see the quality, right there, on my neck. Plus, not only did this (I'm sure) work-for-commission employee basically hand me my first amazing treasure find, she offered to clean the piece (free) before I left.

I went home in a daze. The Big Lug grinned from ear-to-ear when I told him, and high-fived me (he supports my "hobby" - if he only knew). I re-looked at my gem books, too. Duh - diamonds, real diamonds, can fluoresce just about any color (I remembered that) but when they turn blue under longwave they are not synthetic. Now that it was clean, I saw pure blue under UV and not the blue-purple I had seen when it was, apparently, dirty. I measured the stone in the pendant, too, and I think it's 1/5 carat, set in about 1 gram of white gold (since it has the purity marking but not any other hallmark - that's British law). Not much money in raw materials, but, based on what I see, this is probably a very good stone, and defintely a well-crafted setting. Trust me, I have more than $4 here.

Out of curiosity, I also went back to the 14K gold earrings I bought a couple of weeks ago, scrubbed and rinsed them and hit them with the UV. Though the stones are tiny (1/3 to 1/2 carat total weight, I'd guess), and they're not as sparkly as this one (not professionally cleaned), they all glow blue as well.

I have diamonds out the wazoo.

It was a very good day.

... thank You, thank You, thank You ...

Searching for Inspiration

So, I've been staring at the blank screen, in my head and in reality, since about 5:30 this morning. I read the paper (business, world, and style). I watched TV (mostly the home and garden variety). And, though the daylight is almost gone, I took my daily walk.

I'm stumped. I typed in five different titles, six first sentences. None of them sparked so much as an extra thump in my chest. What the heck do I write about when there's nothing to write about?

Oh, I know the economy is chugging away on its path to the deepest part of the mine, and the media (and many political appointees) continue to spout words like "dire," "apocalyptic," and "calamitous" with an appalling lack of emotion (and, perhaps, of definition). I know that Transition looms fat and (happy/sad) on the horizon, as does the month-plus season(s) that in some families deepens the warm connections and in others serves to accentuate group dysfunctionality and individual gluttony and greed. I know that winter is coming, fast and gray, from all directions at once. All that is old news, inevitable, charted and mapped. Where's the creativity, the enthusiasm, the change point?

It's coming; it's just not here today, not yet anyway. Today seems to be about seeing the darker side (mostly), yet still - on purpose - putting one foot in front of the other. I don't know why I'm seeing more pre-dawn blackness than brightness - the Big Lug and I both got paid on Friday, I found a pretty ring and a great watch on Saturday, and I didn't work horrible hours - but there's no flash of light today, no genius, no great revelation. I'm waiting patiently, however, because I know it will eventually come. I've learned to trust that fact.

In the meantime I have to be honest with you and myself, and stop trying to perk up a day that's cloudy, windy, and really, really cold. Sometimes we must simply accept the day or week or year for what it is (a silent, gathering-of-strength time), light a fire in the hearth (symbolic, don't you think?), stick a roast in the oven, and put the milk on the stove for a mug of the sweetest, hottest cocoa on the planet.

Hey, it's Monday - a girl's gotta take it where she can find it, right?

Accountability

Being your own boss sounds great in theory, but it's something of a pain, at least when business outside the house slows down. See, as long as I have appointments, students to meet or classes to teach, I thrive - my day molds itself around my chosen schedule, one which has another person or persons involved (which creates a disappointment factor and so immediately makes me accountable). When my calendar has only three days a week with anything written on it, that's when I start to get in trouble.

At first, it's great - usually I need the rest after the Busy Bunny routine, especially when three times out of four I get sick (or, as the Big Lug says, I "allow myself to be sick") almost immediately afterward. So, although I had a few quiet, relaxing times after my schedule ramped up in mid-July, I still slammed into the big wall of empty on the first of November with an allergic reaction that brought on a ten-day bout of bronchitis. Despite this, even the Big Lug was surprised when I voluntarily rested, and he played caretaker far longer than he normally would have because (I think) he was worried that I might be sicker than I told him.

His attitude would be funny except I know that I'm a terrible patient, and a worse self-starter, so after the initial day (sick or not) of movie-watching and popcorn-eating I'm usually running like a maniac from cooking to shopping to distractions of any sort so that I won't have to do anything (especially things I hate, like housework or going to the doctor's). Unfortunately, this almost always means big bucks, spent mostly on things I don't need or don't use - the stack of unopened boxes in the basement stood silent testament to my sordid past of comfort buying until I returned, sold, and gave most of it away during the extravaganza.

So because of my quest, this time - for the first time, really - I couldn't buy things that weren't catch up (empty pantry and freezer), stock up (while I have the money), or need in the next month (clothing, tablecloths for Thanksgiving), so the "resting" went on longer than I'd intended and even ran perilously close to depression. All because I lacked one essential element. Structure.

Not a plan, I want to emphasize that. Plans are easy, and (for me) toxic. Hell, I can come up with a thousand plans, all equally unrealistic because no matter how orderly anyone makes it, life has a habit of getting in the way. And since outline turns to policy and then to dogma at a moment's notice - but life doesn't - thwarted planning is the loony factor in my past.

A structure is as different from a plan as a willow is from an oak. For me, this means a system of checks and balances, of goals and completions, of rewards and consequences - fluid and ever-evolvoing, loose not locked-in - and though this never shows up as an item in my datebook, the pencilled-in names that are there move me to do more during a day, if for no other reason then being able to accomplish so much in a such a short span sets a good example for (and maybe motivates) the teenagers I teach.

I'm ashamed to admit it, but with only empty space on my calendar, I have only empty space in my day. With no anchor, no goal to shoot for (no one to impress?) I am adrift. Yes, I have this crusade, but it's a secret and (honestly) not all-encompassing enough to give me the daily feel of satisfaction I require - I don't just need someone to be accountable to, I need something to be accountable for on practically a moment-by-moment basis, and I've begun to realize that even I can't look for money 24-7.

Wisdom is about understanding your limitations, right? About emphasizing your strengths, yes? So I did what any rational nutcase would do - I made a list, a Bunny-style, generic-yet-specific, heavily-suggested-but-not-rigid roll call of reasons to get up and get moving every day of my life.

In no particular order, and out of love not fear, every day I will:

Do at least one good thing ... for my finances ... for my home ... for my family ... for myself ... and for others.

Already today I've covered self (a long walk, despite the cold), others (picked up trash along the route), and finances (entered the receipts into the checkbook and clipped coupons). I put a hold on a book for the Big Lug on our library's web page, and I'm about to start the turkey chili (all for my family). I don't know what to do about the home yet, but I'll think of something before the day is over, even if it's running a scrub brush around the toilet (hideous but over quickly).

The beauty of this is that I can spend as much or as little time as I'm able on each item, so when I'm busy (making money) I can multitask (dust furniture while calling my mom to tell her I love her) or do just five minutes (plucking my eyebrows), and - directly or obliquely - it will probably impact my goal here anyway (going thrift shopping for me yesterday, I found a 14K and possible diamond pendant for $3.74). No matter how it ends, though, I know how it begins - I will and I must do something in each area, every day. Period. Not open for discussion.

But always open for real life.

Short and Sweet

I worked 11 hours yesterday and slept only 5, so I have a limited attention span right now. But that's okay, because not much is happening on the home front.

Saturday's hunting was slim - it rained, which limited me to thrift shops and online auctions. The former was shortened by the Electric Kid, who had an accident in the car (no real issue, I was tired from my week-long illness and recovery anyway), and the former was kind of lackluster.

Actually, that part surprised me. I get that donations are down - with the markets bouncing like a chihuahua on a caffeine high, no one wants to give anything away - but I expected more to show up on eBay and Yahoo. I don't know, maybe it's normal. Maybe it's a sign of things to come. Maybe people will pass on their nicer things as gifts this year.

Maybe I could figure it out if I had a brain. But I don't. I can't even focus here for long.

I thought about taking pictures today, posting my finds for the last ... what is it, three months? (I'm a bit out of date.) But the Big Lug took today off. He's taking care of me. So much so that I'm having trouble dodging him as I write this post. That's not actually a complaint since his version of caretaking is rubbing my fevered brow (and the neck and shoulders that carry all my stress). He can't cook, he doesn't pick up after himself, but the man kneads muscles like a gourmet baker does bread. He's worth his weight in platinum.

In fact, I need to head back. I threw him off the scent by playing Text Twist and Googling chest freezers (our basement 'fridge blowed up) but he'll be in here any minute to check on me - to bully me into lying down for awhile or make me eat a peanut butter sandwich. Big silly tyrant of a man.

I love it.

Transitioning

This is hard - this bloody household money thing. I calculated utilities, gas, allowance, food, even charitable giving, I know I did! I forgot nothing but it's not working. It shouldn't be this difficult to transfer the dailies over to the Big Lug's salary, dang it! But our "incidental" spending is way more than I'd thought it would be; I'm losing my mind trying to track it and get the man to slow down at the same time. Geez, Louise, how much can two people spend?

Wait. Take a breath. Slow down. Don't freak. The goal is to have this plan up and running by the end of the year, not by the end of the day. It takes time to change the course of a river, even one that's shifted from white-water thrills to lazy and steady by now. Nothing worthwhile happens all at once.

Right?

Transitions are hard for most people, but they are the worst for an impatient, do-it-all-yesterday gal like me. I have to remind myself that this is the least of the changes around me. Autumn and spring are nature's transitions, times of flux between the abundant, full life and the stark, temporary death of the land - we even turn our clocks back and forth during these months. Plus, the first Tuesday in November is about changing the guard - this year that means new President, new Congress, new hopes, and new concerns. Add in the heaving money markets and the roller coaster high-low of gasoline and household basics, and I'm surprised we haven't all lost our minds.

I'm jumpy, that's all. It's as if there's a thunderstorm or a surprise party coming but I can't see it - I don't know what's going to happen next. But do I ever? If I truly believe life is an adventure then I have to accept the unknown because it's not an adventure without the unknown. Take a step, any step. Good, bad, or boring, if I want to live and not simply exist the only thing I can do wrong is to plant my size 9 1/2's and not budge at all. I know this.

Transitions are nothing more than moving forward slower - could be a pause once in awhile to catch my breath and enjoy the wonders around me, could be allowing someone else drive for awhile and help me get from one amazing place to another. Either way, I have to trust I'll end up where I'm supposed to be, and that the destination will be even better for the journey.

All of it. Even the frustrating parts.