Beehive in Your Soul

English is a wonderful language because it's so easygoing about taking in new words. Like "skosh," for instance — I just learned that it's on loan from Japanese, sukoshi meaning "a little bit." We also make up new words constantly (though I am definitely not a fan of either "awesomesauce" nor "amazeballs," I recognize the function they serve for those who want to express extreme enthusiasm while sounding like idiots). The shuffling and re-shuffling of various prefixes and suffixes can lead to words that don't really make much linguistic sense — if you picked apart "homophobia," you would think it meant "fear of people who are the same as you," which... is pretty accurate really.

When I make up words, I want them to make sense when you first hear them, and then more sense the more you think about them.

Opal

Opal is my favorite gemstone, even though (or maybe because) it is the only gem to be considered a bad luck charm.

My opal bracelet doesn't photograph well, but trust me, it's lovely.

Peony Cache-Cache

My memory of this one isn't super-precise, either... I think I bought it in Buenos Aires?

My grandmother, who has been immortalized in these pages before, never talked about her clothes. I find this rule impossible to follow in my own life — obviously — but I do enjoy the aura of mystery in conveys, or rather would convey if I didn't treat every dress like an encapsulation of my own life story, complete with insecurities and indiscretions.

Sacapuntas

My mother's mother was the quintessential grandmother. She was a sweet woman who never swore, doted on all her grandchildren, took letter-writing very seriously and hostessing even more seriously. (She wasn't the sort to follow you around with an ashtray — that would be intrusive. But when we had grapefruit at the breakfast table, she would get up early to loosen all the segments in her guests' fruit.) She was born in Iowa in 1909. She was religious, but never ostentatious about it. She was what you picture when you picture a grandmother, and I don't think I'm biased here.

So I was really surprised to find this kicky little number among her things.

Excuse me for a second; this wig is all wrong. Yes, the spiraling black curls echo the pencil-sharpening-curlicues of the print...