When I was a small girl, we had a very glamorous neighbour. Her name was Phyllis, and I used to love to visit her bungalow. The reason was mostly because she would allow me to look at all her jewellery and sort out her earrings into pairs. I would have been about 5 years old.
She seemed very old to me at the time, although looking back through adult eyes, I'd say she was about 40. Her living situation was odd, as she lived with her husband and her ex husband. Of course that didn't mean anything to me then, but it makes me raise my eyebrows now. But it was the swinging 60s and Phyllis was attractive. She wore short skirts, chain smoked and rolled her heavily made up eyes, batting the mascara laden lashes on a regular basis.
Her legacy was giving me a passion for sparkly things. I loved rooting through mum's jewellery box too, but it wasn't as large or as exciting as Phyllis'. Mum was modest in all things sartorial, and she certainly didn't have the funds to splash out on the latest Trifari brooch or earrings.
Today, I was putting away recently acquired brooches (one from a local market, the other from a charity shop), and I remembered Phyllis. She would have approved of many of the items in the box, especially the blingtastic ones. But the ones which are the most meaningful to me are those which belonged to mum, or that I bought on holidays or were given to me by friends. Condita memorias
