The Pin



I was heading out to meet a friend for happy hour at a local bar after a very long week for both of us. The wind had kicked up, and the temps were dropping below freezing.  What was once the norm,was an unusually cool evening this winter. 

I sported a knit vest, an extra layer of warmth (which I can ditch when I have a hot flash), and it needed that "something extra" to keep it closed for insulation.  I scurried to my bedroom to scour my pin collection for one that fit my mood and my outfit.

As I gazed at my pins which were scattered upon my dresser, pinned to an antique piece of lace, and to a hat I made for High Falls Crazy Bingo night, I waxed nostalgic on the stories that each one held.

There lay the 40th birthday gift from my dear friend Denise, a faux ivory etching, showing a Renaissance-style hand of an artist drawing a beautiful sun.  Pinned to the band of my Bingo hat, front and center, was the pin from my girl friend who died of cervical cancer when she was in her 30's. The irony of the gift was that it sported the adage "Life's a bitch and then you die".  I will never forget Mary, who would call me from her hospital bed to see how I was getting by after leaving my horrid marriage with my two young babies.  Those were tough times for the both of us and each time I see that pin, I blow her a kiss and hope that I get to spend time with her in the next life.

There was the pin from my co-worker who collected Arts and Crafts furniture and prints, and knew what good retro jewelry was worth buying.  And the pin my co-worker gave me for xmas, the pin that I bought from a co-worker who designed on the side, the pins I bought from flea markets, the pins I made from antique paper. Each one told a story, each one wearing a bit of the soul of the artist who made it.

The winner for the night, the faux ivory etched pin. 

Funny how ours lives are represented in little things. The cards, the jewelry, the art. You don't get that soul when you buy in Walmart, though I try to remember that there is a little bit of soul of all who have touched what I bring into my life, even if it came from China. 

In my reorganization and "right sizing" rampage that I am on, I never touch the pins. They are too personal, and too dear. 


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