But so far this year, which has barely just started, I've gotten to discover that our house was broken into and that the only thing stolen was my jewelry. Not the funnest way to start the new year. Especially since there I was, telling everyone how Katrina had made me realize that stuff is just stuff, that it was not something to get emotionally invested in, and then somebody had to go and steal my stuff.
So excuse me for a minute, while I mourn my stuff. The filigree necklace with the diamond inset that Kenny gave me after Emmeline was born. The art-deco diamond ring that, family lore has it, my great-grandfather bought in Italy during World War I. It had been in our family for 100 years--I lost it in Katrina, while it was in a jewelry shop for re-sizing, only to have my mom recover it after Katrina. (Can you believe the jewelers were that decent and that nice? To actually make an effort to return people's jewelry, after their entire store was underwater? Makes me like humanity a little bit more.) I was the fourth generation in my family to have that ring and had looked forward to passing it on to Emmeline. The citrine ring encircled with diamonds that Kenny gave me for our fifth wedding anniversary. My grandfather's cuff links. The opal necklace and earring set that my grandmother bought prior to her death and set aside as a gift to be given (one for each of her grandchildren) after she died. Family jewelry from my step-father, who had passed some on to me and my sister to pass on to our children. The diamond solitaire necklace my dad gave me for safe-keeping for Emmeline. My high school class ring. My college sorority pin. Kenny's grandmother's pearls. My fleur de lis pendant.
Just stuff, just stuff, just stuff. Right? It still sucks. Eventually, in a few years, it will become just another loss. But for now, it has me back in "stuff" mode, wanting it back. And getting ready to start the I-know-it-will-be-futile-but-I-just-can't-help-myself pawn shop search. Sigh.