For the past 16 years -- or maybe it was a little longer (I can't really remember) -- I wore a black onyx stud earring in my left earlobe. It was small. It was discreet. It probably went unnoticed by lots of people.
Heck, at times I even forgot I had it.
At the time I had my ear pierced, I suppose I was just riding the wave of what was fashionable then. I remember more than one young person commenting on it -- positively -- during the interviews I used to do on college campuses when I was The Oregonian's newsroom recruiter. It surprised them, I suppose.
But there comes a time when a piece of clothing or jewelry begs to be retired. As I look it, lying on a kitchen counter-top next to Lori's rings, it appears to be nothing more than an inanimate object, devoid of meaning or sentiment. But I know better. Many a time, as I was reading or contemplating some deep thought, I'd reach up and fiddle with it.
It's gone now. If I want to fiddle with what's left behind, I need only reach down to my wedding ring or the turquoise band I bought in New Mexico last month -- or adjust the silver pendant depicting Orcas Island that hangs around my neck.
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