February 18, 2009

• …I’ve been having an ear problem. More specifically, it’s an earring problem. I keep losing them. Seems like it is always one of a pair that I really love, and here’s the puzzler…the earring manages to disappear while in use. I go into the bedroom at night and when I reach up to take off my jewelry, I discover a missing earring. This bugs me, since my ears are pierced and the little trinkets should not be going anyplace! Doesn’t this sound like the start of a good book… The Mystery of the Missing Earring.

  Puzzling over lost earrings made me remember when I got my ears pierced. The circumstances surrounding my ear-piecing adventure seem odd today, in light of the fact that nearly every little girl who can waddle around, and even some who aren’t ready for waddling, have a least one pair of earrings in their tiny lobes. Then there are the multiple body piercings that so many young folks exhibit…we won’t even go there. But this was way back in 1968, and at the ripe old age of 16, I was nearly an old maid as far as earrings were concerned.

  ALL my friends had their ears pierced, and most had done it the courageous way, which was a routine not unlike Chinese water torture. First you talked about it for days, gaining fortitude for the trial ahead. But the encouragement from friends could be a bit unsettling. “If Judy could do it, anyone can. She only fainted for a few seconds.” “It really doesn’t hurt bad, and there’s not much blood. Just don’t look.” “The swelling doesn’t last long, and when it goes down, you get to see your earrings.” “Use real gold posts. I didn’t, and my ears were infected for three weeks.” “Try to sit really still so the needle goes through straight, even when it seems to get stuck.” “It helps to put an ink dot to mark the spot. Carol forgot to do that, and her earrings will always look crooked.”

  The process employed an ice cube to freeze-deaden the tender, innocent lobe. When the victim could no longer feel it, she closed her eyes, gritted her teeth and hung on tight to the arms of the chair and hoped and prayed that her best friend had good aim, strength and a really sharp needle. The real problem arose with the second ear, because by then she knew exactly what was coming. Only the bravest girls got through this.

  I’d broached the subject, but my dad was outspoken in his disapproval. His opinion was well-known in the family: pierced ears were equal to big, gold hoop earrings worn by gypsies. Cheap. Somehow, it was all right for Mom to wear big, fancy clip-ons, with lots of rhinestones and glitter, with a lovely big necklace and heavy bracelet to match. But pierced ears were a no-no.

  It rarely occurred to me to defy Dad, but this time I had an ally. Mom wanted her ears pierced, too. She was tired of those heavy, uncomfortable clip-ons and longed to wear the new, delicate studs that looked so graceful and becoming. So she and I came to an agreement. If I would do it her way, she’d pave the way with Dad, and then eventually she’d have the job done, too. She insisted I go to a doctor for the procedure.

  We lived in a tiny town that was without a doctor at that time, so my best friend and I headed to Mountain Home on a summer afternoon. Our first stop was the jewelry store on the square, where I purchased a pair of tiny round jade stud earrings on gold posts. Then we found the doctor’s office. It also was on the square; a wooden door with his name etched on it opened to a set of stairs that carried you up to his second-floor office, which was over a clothing store.

  When we timidly opened the door at the top of the wooden steps, a huge mongrel-dog was sleeping across the threshold. He glanced up at us but didn’t bother to move, so we gingerly stepped over him. The doctor didn’t seem to have a lot of business. In fact, he didn’t even have a nurse or receptionist. Besides the dog, we were the only ones there.

  After a little while, the good doctor came into the stuffy, creepy waiting room. He laughed when I told him why I was there and led me back to a treatment room. Picking up a huge hypodermic needle, he proceeded to deaden my earlobes with enough Novocain to keep them numb for a week. After that I didn’t feel a thing…but I could hear. He took something and probed and poked and prodded it through my gristly earlobes for several minutes, making all sorts of tearing, crackling sounds. Eventually the job was done, the earrings were in place and we were on our way, less his $10 fee. I’m not sure but I think mine were the first ears the doctor had ever pierced. Sue Ann had to drive home.

  The hard part came next…going home to face Dad. He stared as I pulled my straight hair back and revealed the deed. “See, Dad, you can hardly see them, they’re so small, and I promise I’ll never wear gold hoops or dangly earrings. Please don’t be mad at me, Dad,” I pleaded.

  Dad didn’t say a word, but with Mom’s help, he got over it. Six months later, she had her ears pierced, and we were on the plateau of earring happiness.

  When my daughters came along, I remembered how badly I had wanted pierced ears. But I guess Dad’s opinions still influenced me, for both girls had to wait until they were 13 to get the job done. And by then it was a piece of cake….go to a department store, get the earrings inserted at the same time the piercing was done with a nifty gun-thing. Viola! Painless and easy. Except that Susannah had a big scar on one earlobe from an early dog bite and her body simply refused pierced earrings. To this day, she must search out clip-ons and rues the fact that the rest of us enjoy the simplicity of pierced ears.

             

  (Current favorites: in the center are some given to me by my co-grandmother, Lynn. They are made from circa 1915 silverplate, pattern Primrose. The pearls came from Sue Ann’s husband, the late Dave Jones, who carried them home from China. The blackberry earrings were from a friend who loved it when I gave her some of my blackberry jelly. The red beaded ones were made by daughter Sarah, who is becoming quite a talented jewelry artisan. The tiny diamond studs came from my hubby one Christmas. Hammered silver ones are just some I like, as are the red and silver ones. I love anything monogrammed, and those came from Susannah.)

  On the subject of earrings, I love that my mother-in-law and her family all call them “ear-bobs.” Perhaps that is a more apt description of the jewelry….they really aren’t rings. But aren’t they fun? Although I tend to choose simple, small ones, I admire women who can comfortably wear the bigger styles.

  What kind of earrings do you wear and like? Any earring stories out there? And if you find a stray coral drop….or a silver hoop about the size of a quarter….or a black beaded drop….maybe you can help me solve a mystery.

  • 5:54 pm
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