Upon getting dressed and donning jewelry to leave on our recent road trip to Los Angeles, there was an odd occurrence. I was standing in front of the left end of the dresser where my little dish of daily wear jewelry resides. I put on my necklace, earring, and ring, all quite normal enough.

The necklace is one from Satya in NYC and I wear it most every day. It’s black pearl, for focus, and there is a silver charm of a lotus blossom. The earring varies. I have six ear holes and I wear six different earrings. Five of them are static unless I get a wild hair about it, but one changes daily, quite often the same for many consecutive days, but only the one earring is removed at night. Please don’t ask me why as I have no idea. That’s just how it seems it has always been.

MY ring is a fiery opal and diamond ring that belonged to Elizabeth’s mother, Rita. I wear it to honor her and keep her presence in our life. Though I wasn’t fortunate enough to have ever met her, we thank her frequently as we stumble across good fortune. I like to think she would approve of her ring on my left ring finger.

After the necklace, earring and ring were all in place, I picked up my grandfather’s pocket watch and slipped it into my pocket. I did this as if it was the most natural thing in the world, as if I did it every morning, yet this isn’t something I have ever done before, and I did it without a conscious thought about it.

I realized I had done this almost as soon as it happened. I thought for a moment and asked Elizabeth, “What does it mean?”

Of course, she didn’t know what I was talking about so I explained as I pulled the pocket watch from my pocket to look at it.

The watch is by Waltham. It belonged to Max, my father’s father. It is in a silver case and thee ‘crystal’ is plastic, not glass. It’s very yellowed and doesn’t keep time. I think it was overwound and likely is easily fixed, but I’m not comfortable leaving it anywhere.

My dad gave me the watch about seven years ago. I made it clear to him since I was a teenager that I wanted it and though my father never carried it, he did take it out from time to time and polish it and give it a wind. It was one of the few things I ever knew belonged to Max that my dad had in his possession. The only other thing I know about the watch is that the original case was solid gold and Max sold it to bring his brothers to America from Poland. I think that was in the ’20s or ’30s, but I am not sure.

Max died while my mother was pregnant with me which is why I am Maxine. I was thinking about all of this as I slipped the watch back into my pocket. Was Max to be a talisman for this trip? Why now? Is it a challenge to my attachment to the pocket watch? What if it is lost on the trip? Is that too much to risk?

That day and each day since, the watch has been in my pocket. I can almost think about taking it for repair. Almost. I still wonder what it means.