And if that mockingbird don't sing I'm gonna buy you a diamond ring

I love shiny sparkly things. I said it, I don't regret it. I'm sure it started earlier than I can remember, but what I do remember is my mother's jewelry box was a mystifying wonderful box of magic to me. My mother loved jewelry and fashion and art and music, all the things I love too. I have memories of my father wrapping precious gift boxes at Christmastime purchased at Wanamakers. Often something with pearls my mom's favorite.

There was however one special item that each time it came out of its designated home in her jewelry box, I knew it must be a special occasion.

It was gold, with gems, it jangled when it moved, it had meaning.

The charm bracelet. The holy grail.

That bracelet with its woven links of gold, the custom jewel encrusted charms, like the grown-up lady version of Monopoly pieces. An umbrella with the spokes dotted with pearls. A piano with sapphire and diamond keys. A large disc with the anniversary date engraved. And the daddy-o of them all, the carrousel. It spun. It had all kinds of tiny gems.

I imagined this bracelet on my arm when I got older. I dreamt of it.

It wasn't to be. When I was about 10 years old our family was on our summer vacation on Long Beach Island NJ and our family home was robbed. The mysterious box and all its contents gone forever. My mother wept over baby teeth and baby bracelets and first haircuts and notes. I privately grieved the loss of this iconic piece of how I defined my glamourous mother.

As I grew up my love of jewelry only intensified.

I would search antique and estate jewelers looking for the bracelet thinking one day it might turn up intact, ready to go home with its rightful owner. Never letting on to anyone this secret quest.

Fast forward to present day. I still love jewelry that jangles.

Like a cat collar alerting everyone to my presence, I'm here, see me.

I stopped into an Antique jewelry store in Sydney out of habit. Don't get excited, my bracelet wasn't there.

But there was a lovely charm bracelet with someone else's story dangling from the links. A 50's style tv and cocktail shaker, binoculars, an anvil, a French horn, a sack of money, a boot, and a custom made canister containing a dollar of unknown origin. I wondered who was the original owner, what did these charms mean to them, what could they mean for me?

Could I add the charms of my new story to this collection? I left the bracelet there, and went for some lunch.

I went back.

I added the Australian Ringtailed Possum, opting out of the more common koala or kangaroo. He is unusual and a little misunderstood and underappreciated.

I have some thoughts about those existing charms and how they relate to me now, but I may feel differently about some of them as time passes.

The jangle makes me think of my mom, now gone over 24 years.

Like the bell that summons Tinkerbell.

I'm here.