A sentimental journey

Since I retired, I've taken to keeping lunch dates, etc., in jeans and whatever, with no jewelry. It bugs Jordan, because over the years the children have given me nice silver--not expensive, not valuable, but things suited to me. Increasingly, my necklaces were in a tangle, and the several jewelry boxes I have were a mess. She has so much more patience than I do, so she untangled tiny fine chains, and laid them all out in one place, put brooches in another (I have a new sweater that cries out for my Scottish heather brooch, which Jordan unearthed for me), and sorted, ultimately carrying off anything valuable to be put in the safe. Now I'll never really wear those things! She unearthed cheap elastic bracelets, one in brown and red beads that matched the sweater I was wearing, and I dutifully put it on.
But she unearthed some treasures--my grandmother's wedding ring, small, worn thin, but that peculiar old gold with a truly rosy touch about it; a cheap locket belonging to my mom that fascinated me as a child because it opened to show not two but four tiny pictures--one of my mom, one of my dad, and one of my brother at age six holding the newborn me and a blank space I always thought should be filled. A cameo necklace of my mom's--I wonder how many people today even know what a cameo is? Some old railroad watches--must have been my grandfather's. The tiny paste gold expansion bracelet and delicate necklace, with red glass stones I'm sure, given to me as a toddler because the ruby is my birthstone. I've never owned a ruby. Now what month is turquoise? I might want to change my birthday. But it was a trip down memory lane.
Of course, when I went out to dinner last night I wore jeans, a sweater, and a raincoat--no jewelry except that expansion bracelet. Maybe I need to sharpen up my act.

How methodical are you? Right brain or left?

My eight-year-old granddaughter astounded me this weekend--she's so organized and methodical. I do remember when she was in pre-school she was the only child who folded her blanket neatly after nap time. She couldn't stand that the furniture, etc., to the Dora playhouse she has long since outgrown was scattered around the playroom and asked for a bag to collect it all--alas, Dora herself is missing. Edie has an expanding file folder thing in which she has carefully labeled the various files with post-its--designs, ideas, sketches, etc. At her cousin's birthday, the Star Wars horns were scattered artfully on the cake table--she lined them  up in two, evenly spaced, matching rows. Oh, to be so organized.
My file drawer by my desk is haphazard at best, surely not aphabetical. I generally know which part of the drawer something is in, but I sometimes have to look and look, going through it file by file. And right now I've lost a file I really need--last night in desperation I created a new file in order to get something off my desk.
The shoes in my closet are helter-skelter and sometimes I have to search for the matching shoe.The clothes in my closet are the same way, and I often go through garment by garment, pushing things aside, to find what I had my mind set on wearing that day. My book shelves are a mess and I search for hours for a book I know I have, frequently giving up.
And yet I consider myself an organized person, indeed almost compulsive. And I think those who worked with me did too. But Melinda always patiently explained to me that I am right-brained--therefore I am creative, but I cannot proofread worth a darn. I admit it's true--my mind doesn't dwell on details, and I sometimes leap before I look. I buy cars, houses, and dogs on impulse--but I listen to my instinct and never seem sorry. When Jordan and I used to spend Sunday afternoons at realtors' open houses, I'd tell her the right house would reach out and touch us. In one hugely expensive house we could nowhere near afford, she asked, "Is this touching  you, Mom? It's touching me." Sometimes, a long while later, in retrospect, I look back and realize I'd have been better off if I'd done something differently. But life is too short for regrets.
And the junk in my attic? The kids will have to worry about that when they cart me out of here.
What about you? Right brained or left brained?