We all know the value of the real thing when it comes to character and the quality of a human heart. Just as we know the danger of attraction to surface over substance. One stands warned that judging a book by its cover –or its blurb, for that matter –is an absolute no-no .certainly, in a friend, it’s the 24 –carat kind I'm looking for. When I'm choosing a casserole or a little black dress or a pair of tyres, I want something well-made, built to endure – and I'm not about to be taken for a ride at my age by gimmicky packaging, gung-ho marketing or attention-getting taglines.
But let me say a word for the (occasional) value of glitter over gold, for cheap thrills-fleeting as a firefly or a festive pyrotechnics display. To be honest, I love those moments too. I'm partial to rhinestones; also to those little glow-in-the-dark stars you stick on the ceiling over the bed (and not just in a child's room), lava lamps, sequins, gobs of tinsel on the Christmas tree and those boxes of sparklers, 10 for a dollar. Fact is, I've gone for glitter and showiness over quiet, dignified elegance for most of my life, and I've got the house to prove it. The closet, too: Inside, you'll find blue cowboy boots, a white-fringed leather mini dress, and enough beaded gowns that I could attend the Oscars for the next eight years and never once repeat an outfit. I'm not the sort who will snigger at all that glitters when I'm out shop-hopping – I'd rather fashion, style and design sense. I think the underlying reason my taste runs to gaudy is that I don't take material objects all that seriously. In the world of birds, I always liked the magpie – the one who feather her nest with bits of tinfoil and gold candy-wrappers. She knows she's going to be out there gathering worms, day in and day out. What's the harm in a little neon?
Take my life, a good dozen years of which were spent raising three children as a single mother on a limited budget, in a small town where the winter seemed to last forever. One thing I learnt over those years was how much it spiced up our day if I included some experience of pure, unalloyed, worthless fun. On those awful days when I'm feeling too broke to go shopping, I'd slam on the brakes at a giant everything –must-go yard sale, give each of my children a dollar and tell them, 'Don't spend it all in one place.' As much as there's a place for a wholesome chicken –and-hashed-potato dinner in the life of a family, there should also be a place for a giant bowl of buttered popcorn now and then.
My daughter Audrey has inherited my love of flamboyance. It started way back in nursery school, when I attached an assortment of old costume jewellery, rhinestone pins and mateless earring to her favourite pair of overall to give it that special tweak. Only, for Audrey, glitter became a 365 days a year necessity. We lived in New England at the time, and the last thing she'd do before heading off to high school on those cold winter mornings was to
ss a handful of glitter up in the air, and then walk under them as the flecks drifted down and landed on her hair, her dress and sometimes her eyelashes.
My daughter was always and still is a good student, a hard worker, a terrific babysitter and a loyal, 24 carat kind of friend. But at age 15, she remains like mother like daughter, I hope, knowing the apple doesn't all fall far from the tree – a person with a healthy capacity for playfulness and fun. Sometimes, all that glitters is glitter. And that's fine too. Just because a person likes a little fool's gold in her life doesn't make her a fool.
ss a handful of glitter up in the air, and then walk under them as the flecks drifted down and landed on her hair, her dress and sometimes her eyelashes.sessions.
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