Signature Pieces — by Guest Mom Kyran Pittman

I thought a good place to start would be with baubles I wear so frequently they have become familiar among friends, family and acquaintances — signature pieces, if you will. Pictured here are the rings I wear nearly every single day on my left hand (my right hand is uncommitted to any particular ring, always open to whimsy). On the ring finger is a sneak preview of my wedding set, which I will describe in more detail later in the week. On my middle finger is the sterling and marcasite ring that was one of my paternal grandmother's "everyday" rings. Her name was Mary Margaret Leonard Pittman. She was a published memoirist and poet, under the pen name Len Margaret, and she wrote the most gorgeous letters. Here is an excerpt of one to my aunt and uncle describing the day she moved out of the riverfront home she and my grandfather had shared before his death.

“I thought I would die the evening I
left... it was in late fall. The valley was bursting
with color. Time to pick autumn leaves to press and
place them in the big brown jar in front of the
fireplace. I had given the hens and rooster away.
Freckles was on the back seat of the car, wagging his
tail and in his dog’s mind thought it was another
great adventure like crossing the river in the canoe
or scattering ducklings from their nest in the reeds.
I went back to spend three summers on the river after
that. It was different... One learns to deal with the
past in his or her own way. There’s no way to describe
that.”

—"Not
Far Behind"

She was an elegant, witty, wise and beautiful woman well into her eighties. She would have been a great blogger!

I believe the ring came from England. Marcasite was all the rage in Victorian times, but to me, this has a 1930's, Art Deco look. I really like the way the remaining stones gleam, and I love the shape of the ring, a kind of oval cross that extends almost up to my knuckle. Most of the tiny stones are missing. I took it to my jeweler to see about getting them replaced and he noted that each one had been individually mounted, a level of craftmanship not often seen in modern marcasite jewelry. He told me that to replace the missing stones would cost more than the ring was worth; that you would only do it for sentimental reasons. I keep it on my list of things to do someday.

Ruby Lane has a few lovely vintage marcasite pieces, very reasonably priced, although I've never had any experience buying from them.



I wear these hammered bottle-cap earrings several times a week, and they always attract a comment. They came from San Miguel de Allende, the beautiful colonial town nestled in the Sierra Madres, where my husband and I first lived together. We met on the internet, back in the old days, when it was practically unheard of—the scandal! I was in Newfoundland, my homeland, and he was in Little Rock. I didn't know how to pronounce Arkansas. I thought it was somehow connected to Kansas. Like North and South Dakota. Kansas and Ar-Kansas.

I tease Patrick that he was savvy enough to know that I probably wouldn't run off to Arkansas with him, sight unseen, but that I might be lured to Mexico. The truth is that he sold everything he owned, packed his baby blue '64 Comet, and went into self-imposed exile after this episode in our tangled courtship:

The first time I attempted to come to the
United States to see Patrick, I was turned back at the
border. It was a wretched autumn day in 1995, shortly
before my twenty-sixth birthday. I was travelling on a
one way ticket, I had no cash, no job, and no idea how
long I expected to stay. It hadn't occurred to either
of us that these circumstances would raise an eyebrow
with anyone. As the immigration officer at the Toronto
airport verified them, my hands and voice shook. Not
because I was making any effort to deceive him, but
because I was the middle of coming completely unglued.

—"Tempest-tost"

San Miguel is full of artisan wares, from fine art to funky, but we were too poor to buy anything while there. These came into my life years later, through a friend who found them in a Little Rock boutique and had to buy them for me. I have a bit of an obsession with the image of the Virgin of Guadalupe. Sadly, the shop no longer carries them. I get asked about them so much, I went looking for a source online. There is a lot of bottlecap jewelry out there, but Goldie Garcia's look most similar to mine.

Mine are made with pop bottle caps, but I've seen a beer cap version as well! Sacred and profane.



I'll close today's post with a treasure from my more recent past, my superhero necklace by sometime Design Mom guest mom and all-time superhero Andrea Scher.



Mine are "earth," but the colors remind me of the treasures that wash up on the rocky north Atlantic coastline of my girlhood, glass and stone tumbled smooth by the relentless churning of the sea.

These were a going away gift from a very dear friend, on the eve of my trip to Ireland last winter to read poems in a traveling literary festival.

We had a mad bus ride back to the hotel
pub. Imagine fifty or so Irish and Newfoundland
writers, musicians and entourage barreling down the
twisting road together. It was the Mad Hatter’s tea
party on wheels.

—Tuesday
morning, February 27

I never travel without them. They came in a little pouch, with a lovely warranty that all manner of wonderful things would soon come to the wearer.

And so they have.