Item of lust...a 1950's triple link chain bracelet made from 18k gold.

So, to date, we've discussed Gothic skulls...vodka-filled skulls...skulls that were human...and skulls that were from some other form of animal life...but (and tell me if I'm wrong and my short-term memory is playing tricks with me) I don't think we've talked about preppy skulls. You know, the ones that are frightfully brainy...have a slightly clipped way of talking...and an affinity for stripes, plaids, and bow ties.

Which leads me to these terribly trad lapel pins...made for men, but why should boys have all the fun?

Having been weaned on Enid Blyton...and other authors of that ilk...whose stories were populated by girls named George who had ripping (yet completely non-controversial) adventures...I am all too well aware of the power of “the pash”. In those completely PC tales a “pash” was a pronounced (yet completely non-sexual) fondness for someone...the dictionary of slang and colloquialisms of the UK has a slightly more grown up viewpoint and conjugates it as follows...“I found her having a pash in the back garden with the nextdoor neighbour”.

However you want to look at it, I am currently in the grips of a pash...for things vintage, and golden, and shiny...like this sea-creature-chic brooch by Howard Benedikt...a New York jeweler who made fine costume jewelry from 1955 to 1970...

Depending on whether you are a glass half full...or half empty...kind of person...you will view the following in one of two ways...as an indication that eBay unleashes the worst of humanity (and should therefore be avoided at all costs)...or that, as Chet Baker tried to tell us, the silver (or should that be gold) lining does, on occasion, exist.

I've never been an eBay fan. Some people have great luck...finding bargains the same way that Superman leaped over small buildings...with ease. I, on the other hand, always seem to find the dodgy...the questionable...or the seller who's trying to work some kind of an angle.

This time...on the lookout for a specific piece of vintage jewelry...Google led me to the bay. I made an offer (slightly lower than their asking price)...was amazed when it was accepted...and swiftly paid via PayPal (I've worked in retail, and hate it when people say they'll buy something and then take forever to actually hand over the cash). I fell asleep mumbling that "maybe eBay wasn't so bad after all"...and woke next day to an email informing me that "whoops...sorry...we sold the bracelet to someone else."

The sunny portion of this dark little shopping cloud came when I ventured into the World Market to pick up a jar of Branston Pickle and spotted this...

You've probably noticed that I've recently been on somewhat of a braided/rope jewelry kick recently. Recently though...much like Superman running headfirst into a block of kryptonite...or Popeye losing his can opener and finding an unopened can of spinach in at the back of a kitchen cabinet...I have met my match. For even though the twisted cotton cord has been organically hand-dyed using cochineal, logwood, osage and onion skin...I can't help but imagine that Rapunzel has been locked in the tower so long that her hair turned gray...

Life is full of contradictions...a fact that is generally reinforced at the moment when, having just finished a healthy salad, I yearn for a piece of candy...or when I realize that, much as I love a statement necklace or cuff as much as the next girl, the idea of a couple of simple bracelets is rather appealing...even more so once the weather gets warmer and weighty jewelry can feel wrong (and, during the muggiest months, downright uncomfortable).

Enter two simple strands...the first, a circle of ebony beads...the second, black onyx...with (what else?) a rose gold skull...because, after all, you can take simplicity too far...

Note to self: remove the ring from Gaia Repossi's collection for Alexander Wang from my summer wish list (and the somewhat shallow depths of my soul). There was me (blissfully delusional) thinking this would be an opportunity to get my sticky little fingers on an affordable version of one of Repossi's delicate/bold digit covers. I have to admit, the ring is cheaper than one from her main line...but that doesn't mean I can consider $7,300 to be a bargain...

I read a story once...set back in the day when a dinner party was the sort of formal, stuffy boy-girl-boy-girl seating kind of affair that placed loved ones as far as possible from each other and virtual strangers side-by-side. The male protagonist, in an attempt to understand just how socially sticky the impending meal was going to be, turned to his neighbor and asked, "Do you like string?"

A firm "No" stopped the conversation dead..."Yes" had the potential to be disturbing...whilst the answer "It depends what kind of string" suggested that the conversational ball might be kept rolling through the fish course.

I'm not sure what it says about my merit as a dinner part guest but if the question was posed to me today I'd have to say "In necklace form, definitely"...for recently I've been finding myself ogling rope-y jewelery like an overly enthusiastic boy scout tried to go for two badges at the same time. The first was Madewell's brass and rope combo earlier this week...today, it's the similar (though much pricier) model from Philip Lim. Truth be told, the cheaper charms of the metal rope wield the most charm in this instance, but I have the feeling that there'll be more twisted twine tales coming soon...

Those of you with a decent-ish short-term memory may recall that item #1 on the 2011 Hebden To-Do List was "Attempt to refine...declutter...and generally pare down...all the detrius that a seasoned horder, such as myself, can accrue". One of the specific things that I've been "accruing"...and having a hard time "storing in a vaguely sane manner" has been jewelry.

A state of affairs which is in the process of being changed...thanks to a very nerdy, very small, filing cabinet. I've been lusting over Bisley's 5-drawer cabinet (in the same graphite shade that I painted the interior of my closet) for a while now. It took a sale at The Container Store to make it mine.

Add some drawer organizers...begin the sorting process (earrings...rings...disco ball...Chanel)...and, suddenly, I almost feel organized.

I've been wanting...for quite some time now...in an admittedly rather vague, "let's not rush things" kind of way...to start wearing a vintage African wire bracelet that has been languishing (generally unworn) in my jewelry box since my mid-teens. Memory fades as to where it came from...but I remember falling for it...and its potential history...the moment I laid eyes on it.

Unfortunately, it was too thin to wear on its own...and managed to fade into obscurity when worn with anything else. Until now...when sandwiched between two (extremely inexpensive) bracelets from (insert groan and "oh God, not again" here) Cost Plus...it gains a certain gravity.

It's the kind of thing that makes me wish that I wasn't kicked out of the girl guides...for conduct unbecoming a wearer of the brown dress (am I the only one who thinks of P.G. Wodehouse's "black shorts" when I read that sentence?)...my crime...objecting (rather vocally, I'll admit) to being forced to practice Scottish sword dancing whilst wearing a pair of ballet slippers. One slip...and it's the worst papercut of your life...

However staying with the guides would, presumably, have given me the skills to tie a decent knot...preferably in leather...and affix it to a little brass and rose gold...

Vintage Chanel jewelry is generally not known for its subtlety...I say this as the somewhat dubious owner of a pair of 4" long gilded and pearl bedecked Baroque cherub earrings. If they were brooches, which I think I may have to convert them into, I could see wearing them...but earrings that are bigger than your actual ears are a hard sell, for me at least.

Which is why I was (pleasantly) surprised to see this relatively subdued bracelet from the late 90's...alright, so it's technically not "vintage"...but is is rather lovely, don't you think?

I'm used to the vagaries of fashion seasons...the pressure to ponder over winter coats and knitwear while winter is still a distant blip on the horizon...and giving serious consideration to flimsy dresses whilst schlepping through the snow...yet, despite all this, I was still caught unawares in H&M.

But first (as always) a little back story...a few moons ago...when I was a mid-teen...and knee-high to a (no, wait, that won't work...I've always been an extra tall freak of nature)...anyway, back in the day I was the proud possessor of a sort of leather and shell friendship bracelet. It spoke of summer in a way that the dank depths of Scotland never did and was one of those things that, once slipped on, stayed with me every second of the day until it disintegrated and was given a decent burial at sea.

So...in the back of my mind...and occasionally the front when not a lot was going on up there...there existed the longing for a similar leather-y shell-y item (preferably something in the necklace realm). Every summer I assumed I would find it at some craft fair...or tourist shop...or...somewhere. And, every summer, I ended up bathed in disappointment (and a barely visible "tan").

Then...in the middle of November...in a suburban H&M in a suburban mega-mall...I found it...three strands of plaited leather...bedecked with enough shells to make the ancient mariner feel at home. Do I care that it is going to languish, unworn, in a drawer for the next six months? Not a jot...because I know that, come next summer, I will be wearing it every second of every day...

At this point in my life, I feel that it's highly unlikely that any medals will be coming my way...not being especially athletic...or heroic. Unless, that is, I decorate myself...for, um, services to shopping perhaps...with a handful of these wooden medals.

Just the thing for those of us who are all pomp, and very little circumstance...

I realize that by this point you're probably a little sick of my waxing rhapsodic about World Market's absurdly inexpensive jewelry...especially those of you who live nowhere near one of their stores. All I can say as a mea culpa is that they do sell a few items online...though, inevitably, none of those that I find in their stores...like this leather and brass-balled beauty...offering a certain amount of subdued glamor for a little less than $20...

Whoever you are, I fear you are walking the walks of dreams,
I fear these supposed realities are to melt from under your feet and hands;
Even now, your features, joys, speech, house, trade, manners, troubles, follies, costume, crimes, dissipate away from you,
Your true Soul and Body appear before me,
They stand forth out of affairs—out of commerce, shops, law, science, work, forms,
clothes, the house, medicine, print, buying, selling, eating, drinking, suffering, dying.

Whoever you are, now I place my hand upon you, that you be my poem;
I whisper with my lips close to your ear,
I have loved many women and men, but I love none better than you.

O I have been dilatory and dumb;
I should have made my way straight to you long ago;
I should have blabb’d nothing but you, I should have chanted nothing but you.

I will leave all, and come and make the hymns of you;
None have understood you, but I understand you;
None have done justice to you—you have not done justice to yourself;
None but have found you imperfect—I only find no imperfection in you;
None but would subordinate you—I only am he who will never consent to subordinate you;
I only am he who places over you no master, owner, better, God, beyond what waits
intrinsically in yourself.

Painters have painted their swarming groups, and the centre figure of all;
From the head of the centre figure spreading a nimbus of gold-color’d light;
But I paint myriads of heads, but paint no head without its nimbus of gold-color’d light;
From my hand, from the brain of every man and woman it streams, effulgently flowing forever.

O I could sing such grandeurs and glories about you!
You have not known what you are—you have slumber’d upon yourself all your life;
Your eye-lids have been the same as closed most of the time;
What you have done returns already in mockeries;
(Your thrift, knowledge, prayers, if they do not return in mockeries, what is their return?)

The mockeries are not you;
Underneath them, and within them, I see you lurk;
I pursue you where none else has pursued you;
Silence, the desk, the flippant expression, the night, the accustom’d routine, if
these conceal you from others, or from yourself, they do not conceal you from me;
The shaved face, the unsteady eye, the impure complexion, if these balk others, they do not balk me,
The pert apparel, the deform’d attitude, drunkenness, greed, premature death, all these I part aside.

There is no endowment in man or woman that is not tallied in you;
There is no virtue, no beauty, in man or woman, but as good is in you;
No pluck, no endurance in others, but as good is in you;
No pleasure waiting for others, but an equal pleasure waits for you.

As for me, I give nothing to any one, except I give the like carefully to you;
I sing the songs of the glory of none, not God, sooner than I sing the songs of the glory of you.

Whoever you are! claim your own at any hazard!
These shows of the east and west are tame, compared to you;
These immense meadows—these interminable rivers—you are immense and interminable as they;
These furies, elements, storms, motions of Nature, throes of apparent dissolution—you are he or she who is master or mistress over them,
Master or mistress in your own right over Nature, elements, pain, passion, dissolution.

The hopples fall from your ankles—you find an unfailing sufficiency;
Old or young, male or female, rude, low, rejected by the rest, whatever you are promulges itself;
Through birth, life, death, burial, the means are provided, nothing is scanted;
Through angers, losses, ambition, ignorance, ennui, what you are picks its way.