In my family we make lifelong promises to each other. Like “I promise to stop you from wearing polyester pantsuits, should you fancy them when you’re old.” Or “I vow to confiscate any Dusty Miller you attempt to plant in your garden.” The promises are always 1) requested by the recipient of future interventions, and 2) reflective of aesthetic preferences we fear will one day change for the worse.
I’m pretty sure I’ve issued an edict to jail me if I start wearing a charm bracelet. Not that there’s anything wrong with charm bracelets. I actually like them. It’s just that they signal the onset of asexuality, like chin hair and magazine racks that mount opposite the toilet.
Nevertheless, I bought a charm today: a sterling silver swan. I picked it up at the Public Gardens in Boston. My family and I rode on a swan paddle boat, the kind in Robert McCloskey’s Make Way for Ducklings. I was wrong about the ride. What I thought would be a touristy twirl for children turned out to be a Zen meditation. Our crowded pontoon sailed silently around islands adorned with Japanese maples. Beneath the branches, mallards with brown, blinking eyes watched us glide by. A bride and groom posed for a photo on the footbridge that spanned the pond.
When we disembarked, my children ran ahead with my husband. I walked past the souvenir shop twice before relenting to the swan charm. It’s for a necklace, I reasoned. Only a necklace.
Best never to say “never”, bc, fortunately for us, we begin to gain different perspective as we move along life’s pathway. Then the “charm” sterling silver swan becomes touchstone for something quite precious and memory laden.