Peace Sign

The peace sign on the necklace I bought a couple years ago. I have always called myself a conservative hippie. I loved most the ideals of the era, but I would not have joined most of the behavior. I have never done drugs or drank to excess. I do enjoy a glass of wine once in awhile, but I have never done illegal drugs or smoked marijuana. I did touch a joint once and then pass it on. I also know the smell from college and the aroma sneaking out under dorm room doors. Pressure was not as intense to do those things back then as it is now.

The peace sign has always warmed my heart. While there are many  satanic and dark meanings speculated these days, I take it at face value. To me it stands for peace and nuclear disarmament. It just proves if you want to see evil everywhere you can. I do my best to keep the word evil out of my vocabulary. Only God knows hearts. I cannot make that judgement about anyone.  If it offends you, do not use it. I have always seen peace when I see it and plan to continue.

Holtom’s design did represent an individual in pursuit of the cause, albeit in an abstract way. The symbol showed the semaphore for the letters N (both flags held down and angled out from the body) and D (one flag pointing up, the other pointing down), standing for Nuclear Disarmament.
http://www.fastcodesign.com/

Avon Heart

The heart was given to me one Christmas by my younger sister, Kim, when I was in high school I think. Kim was mentally impaired. She was born normal on May 10, 1960. At five months she got pneumonia and a fever of 105 for a few days. The fever burned part of her brain. When she was a toddler, she fell down a flight of stairs my Gramma Peggy was told by my mother’s family. One side of her head was bruised badly. One or both of these things caused the brain damage. I was a co-guardian for her from 1992 to 2008 when she passed away from complication due to hip surgery. I always loved the heart. It is my necklace of choice most of the time. I have regrets when it comes to Kim. Maybe one day I will be able to put that into words.

Native American Ring 

The ring was given to me by my cousin Gary who was 7 to 8 years older than me. He died from Cirrhosis of the liver at age 40. He gave me the ring one Christmas after he had taken a trip out west. I believe I was in high school. He brought everyone back something Native American. I loved Native American jewelry but did not have any then. It surprised me. I surprised him one year with a book of poetry. I had a book I loved and bought him one just like it. He said he had that book in college. We were not close. We barely talked when around each other. Yet, we were connected somehow. My first two years in college I stayed with my mother’s sister and husband – Gary’s parents. During those two years he would go into rages and come to the house in the night. I would know. I could feel it coming. I would go to my room and curl up and wait – and drunk he would come. He would scream about things his parents did not know, but he would not say what they were. I did not fear him. I feared it. I feared the source of that anger as if I knew what it was somewhere deep inside. Grandma Elsie said in the hospital before died he was seeing things. He thought he was in some kind of war. She tried to tell him that nothing was there, but she could not convince him. He, although not a veteran, died fighting a war no one could see. I always believed him to be a poet, but the struggles of this world were just too much. I wish I were then the person I have grown to be now. Things may have been different. I carried the ring on my key chain for years after he gave it to me because it was small. Now it is on the chain with Kim’s heart.