![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
on traveling in realms of gold
Sep. 14th, 2007 07:42 pmWhen I was in line to go through airport security this afternoon, the TSA guard noticed my little book-shaped locket.
"Oh! What a great necklace! Is that a little bible?"
I put my hand to my locket and blushed, wondering if I was dealing with a Christian fanatic in a position of power, or if it was just meant as friendly girltalk about jewelry.
"It's just a locket shaped like a book. I put poetry in it."
I didn't say I have a strand of my girlfriend's hair in it, alongside the poem.
I didn't say the poem in the locket was rapturous in its praise of pagan scripture.
I didn't say I used to carry medication in the same locket.
I just said "poetry," and she smiled at me, and I went through in time to catch my flight.
I've worn this locket for 22 years, and the meaning of it has changed quite a bit. My parents first gave it to me as an elegant way to carry migraine meds (when I was only taking breakthrough meds, and when they could plausibly fit in a locket. Even a locket a jeweler had expanded to hold more than a picture.) I still remember picking it out, and telling my mother I really wanted that one. "Are you sure? It looks like a lab notebook. Don't you want something pretty? Or something romantic or sentimental or *something*?" Books can be sentimental enough for all practical purposes. When I stopped using Ergomar, I kept wearing the empty book. (There's something very sentimental about that. I still haven't worked out all the implications. And I don't even write--empty books don't call to me the way they call some of you.) Now I have a little copy of "On First Looking Into Chapman's Homer," which was Jo's brilliant suggestion for a poem about the love of reading.
Ten years ago, some airports had their metal detectors tuned so sensitive they'd ping at the amount of metal in my 1" locket, or at jeans with a lot of rivets. That doesn't happen anymore: airport security is much more concerned with passenger profiling, so I was much more concerned about looking respectable (whatever the guard's standards for respectability might be) than I was in the days when I'd just take off all my jewelry and hairclips and put them in the little bin.
"Oh! What a great necklace! Is that a little bible?"
I put my hand to my locket and blushed, wondering if I was dealing with a Christian fanatic in a position of power, or if it was just meant as friendly girltalk about jewelry.
"It's just a locket shaped like a book. I put poetry in it."
I didn't say I have a strand of my girlfriend's hair in it, alongside the poem.
I didn't say the poem in the locket was rapturous in its praise of pagan scripture.
I didn't say I used to carry medication in the same locket.
I just said "poetry," and she smiled at me, and I went through in time to catch my flight.
I've worn this locket for 22 years, and the meaning of it has changed quite a bit. My parents first gave it to me as an elegant way to carry migraine meds (when I was only taking breakthrough meds, and when they could plausibly fit in a locket. Even a locket a jeweler had expanded to hold more than a picture.) I still remember picking it out, and telling my mother I really wanted that one. "Are you sure? It looks like a lab notebook. Don't you want something pretty? Or something romantic or sentimental or *something*?" Books can be sentimental enough for all practical purposes. When I stopped using Ergomar, I kept wearing the empty book. (There's something very sentimental about that. I still haven't worked out all the implications. And I don't even write--empty books don't call to me the way they call some of you.) Now I have a little copy of "On First Looking Into Chapman's Homer," which was Jo's brilliant suggestion for a poem about the love of reading.
Ten years ago, some airports had their metal detectors tuned so sensitive they'd ping at the amount of metal in my 1" locket, or at jeans with a lot of rivets. That doesn't happen anymore: airport security is much more concerned with passenger profiling, so I was much more concerned about looking respectable (whatever the guard's standards for respectability might be) than I was in the days when I'd just take off all my jewelry and hairclips and put them in the little bin.
