After my last bit of cryptic rambling, I figure I owe an explanation to those few who wound up scratching their heads over my words. In this picture ( http://i26.photobucket.com/albums/c.....az_jewelry.jpg ) you can see my earcuff off to the left side there. And yes, for those curious, that is indeed the pendant Kaz also wears all the time.

I took a class in college -- the first go round, when I was around 23, 24 or so -- to fulfill my ethnic studies requirement. I took something on Native Americans, because I have a bit of the blood in among all the other sundry things that make up the ethnic mongrel that is me and was curious. The person who taught the class also happened to be my creative writing teacher, and I owe her everything when it comes to my writing skill. (Which is so rusty now she would likely be horrified.) I have never met a finer teacher, even if we disagreed on what it was that I was most suited to writing. I particularly loved how her class was set up in that respect -- there was no assigned writing past the first thing you had to do, only word counts that increased with time, we all sat in a circle and read aloud, and commented- but this isn't about that class, however fondly I remember it. My tendency to ramble has emerged again. Back to the point.

This teacher was in fact, full-blood Choctaw, and as a part of the class she taught, every year, she took students who wanted to go to the pow-wow at Stanford University which takes place on Mother's Day weekend. Even if you took the class in the off semester, you were given the option of coming. So I packed my tent, scraped enough money together to be able to eat and nothing else, caught a ride to the meeting place, and carpooled on up. I experienced many wonderful things there, from the drumming circle, to being able to take part in a dance, to pitching my tent beneath an enormous tree and having some of the best sleep of my life. I tended to wander around with my teacher and a handful of other students who hung around her, and listened. She brought a friend along, named Mary -- a very nice lady whom I'd never met, and never saw again after the trip. Suffice to say, there was a richness of experiences I had there, but this is perhaps the one that stands out the most, and made the most impact on me.

I saw a lot of things for sale, from raw materials for crafting things to finished jewelry and other items. I saw a great many I longed to buy, but I had no money to do so. Nor did I bemoan it -- I knew I would probably see things I wanted when I'd decided to go, but accepted the fact that I just couldn't at this time in my life. Instead I just did as the others were doing, pointing out this or that and exclaiming over the craftsmanship, or the beauty. One can appreciate without whining, after all. I just told myself I'd have money for buying next year. My teacher wound up buying a gorgeous flying horse necklace carved from polished wood, with a small leather blanket over its back. When I saw a bunch of earcuffs, I went over to look, rather excited. My ears aren't pierced, you see. I tried it once, and it was a nightmare. I still have scar tissue in my lobes and won't be able to get them pierced there again, even if I was willing. At that time, earcuffs were a rarity, and if seen, usually just a plain metal band with no decoration or uniqueness to them. Seeing these, with different stones, different bangles, different decorations on the cuff... it was amazing! I looked my fill, found one that I really liked, and wandered off to the next stall, where my teacher and her friend and some other students were. I told one of the students that she should go check out the earcuffs, and went on about the variety and how awesome they were. Then Mary wanders over and asks where they are, so I show her and the other interested student. At some point, the other student asked me why I didn't get one. To her, I said I didn't have the money for it this time. She nodded with the unspoken unity that being a broke college students brings, and went on from there. Done looking, we wandered back over to the booth my teacher was still at.

A few minutes later, Mary walked over and pressed the earcuff I'd liked into my hand.

This dumbfounded me. After the shock wore off, I thanked her profusely, but this has stayed with me ever since -- and the fact that I remember all these details is proof. Anyone who knows me can tell you I have a horrible memory, and I never recall names unless they're repeated to me over and over.

But it is this -- the generosity and simple kindness to a stranger, giving a gift neither asked for nor expected but meaning so much -- that has come to be so tied up for me, imbued in the quiet clink of the metal feathers in my ear. And if something that small can mean so much to me, what might it mean for someone else? A giving spirit, the very basic level of what is good in so many people, was the lesson brought home to me that day. Not just for family, not just for friends, but for those you barely know, for strangers. It's a lesson I try to keep close to heart, and it's why I try to pass it on when my situation allows, whether it be buying a little art for a friend, or donating when I come across a journal asking for help. Sometimes, it's just a matter of trying to even the scales a little when the bad things in life seem to be piling on someone.

That is my earcuff. That is why I wear it every day, and have for years. It's much more valuable to me than its weight of silver and stone. *knocks on wood* Hopefully, it will continue to speak its lesson to me for many more to come.